Property Of
by hydraling110
Summary: During a Cybertronian 'peace,' ex-Cons decide to hide the sentience of and sell humans as pets to secure Earth. Sam and Mikaela might just be the first to grasp the reality of the situation alongside their new mech owner.
1. At Least

**Title: **Property Of

**Rating: **T (might be occasional cussing or other 'T' situations; if you disagree about the rating for some reason, just tell me so)

**Summary:** During Cybertronian 'peace,' ex-Cons hide the sentience of and sell humans as pets to secure Earth. Sam and Mikaela might just be the first to grasp the reality of the situation alongside their new owner.

**Chapter:** At Least

**DISCLAIMER**

'Transformers' belongs wholly and entirely to Hasbro, and all extended licenses to Paramount, etc. I do not claim any ownership beyond my own collection and the purely non-profit fanfiction that I write and, most of the time, do not even consider posting online.

**Early A.N.s **

This is NOT a spinoff of some other similar fics I've read, considering that I've had the idea long before I read any of them, and there are key variations that suggest as much (or so I feel). However, since I do like those other fics – and am glad to suggest further reading just in case you somehow missed them – I will give the ones I find relatable mention: Contra Mundum (Cafei), Domestic Liberation (Lnzy1) come to mind, and – more for 'further reading' than anything, and because it involves at least one 'pet' human – A Pet Squishy (Fire Redhead).

*Further, since I did not borrow ideas from these authors, I did not request permission to mention their fanfics – thought that the mention was a positive, not a negative. If you are one of these authors, however, and do not want to be mentioned here for whatever reason, PM me and I'll remove the reference.

If you see what you think are typos/grammatical errors/ etc., I would really appreciate you pointing them out to me via review, PM, or even e-mail. I will take any and all of those messages into account and fix the errors.

ALSO,** if you only want to start reading from where 'our' mechs join the picture**, you can skip to the _end of chapter 2_ or start at _chapter 3_. I wouldn't recommend it (there's subtle and not-so-subtle background info in here), but someone asked, so now I provide.

* * *

"This will probably be the last time you hear your native language spoken to you. It would be to your benefit to listen closely," warned a green and blue mech. His words were met with the silence of his captive audience.

"You are to be shipped to one of our colonies where you will be sold into captivity. Mark that there is nothing, Earthlings, that will prevent this from happening. The quicker you come to terms with your fate, the better.

"You will start to be processed aboard this ship over the couple of your days that it takes to reach the establishment. You will be treated for any immediate damages incurred during your repossession, refitted with manageable garments, begin the process of weaning from your earthly attachments and habits, and be given a primary assessment of value. Once the destination is reached, you will be processed further, be given a final assessment, and held until you're lucky enough to catch a mech's optic. The more trouble you cause, the more you will receive, and we are not above euthanizing those who prove themselves unprofitable or unruly."

The mech's optics glowed a hard red as he scanned the organics. The two smaller mechs (possibly drones) next to him stared straight ahead blankly, uninterested.

"You _will_ do your best to maintain value, and to maintain order, or you won't have even the slightest chance of seeing the outside of the vessel a second time."

A nod to the sentries signaled the mech's departure. In moments more the two drones followed and the room was left solely to its cargo.

Eleven pairs of eyes shared looks of disbelief, sorrow, anger, and confusion.

Samuel Witwicky wondered, briefly, how they had gotten here.

Not here in this room, to be precise. No – Sam would always remember in blurry, adrenaline-crazed detail how he, Miles Lancaster, and Mikaela Banes wound up inside this barren cell of a place with no natural light, smooth and dull walls, and scarcely any furnishings… This unnerving place with eight strangers – none of whom looked any older than twenty-five – and an unsettling amount of empty room that allowed the yellowish ceiling lights to play tricks with the darkened metallic floor.

No. Sam wondered how he and his friends had reached a place in life where it was completely sane to suggest that aliens were real, invading, and taking prisoners. As far as he was concerned, any place like that sure as hell had no right existing to begin with.

Some young black man, farthest from Sam, laughed nervously into the silence. "At least we know why they take us alive," he said weakly.

"That's no 'at least!'" cried a crazed girl. She looked younger than the previous speaker, but maybe that was just his imagination. Sam followed the exchange with his eyes; Miles did the same. Mikaela, on the other hand, had her face buried in her left palm, her other hand making a mess of her hair as her whole upper body heaved with the strength of the 'deep breaths' she was trying to take.

Sam wished she wouldn't do that. He always thought she had the prettiest hair.

"How can you see anything redeemable about this?" the girl was continuing.

Another boy, with skin tanned deeply and built remarkably jock-like, jumped in, "Hey, he was just trying to lighten the mood."

"This can't be _lightened!_" she adamantly shrieked. "I'd rather they kill us! I want to leave! There's nothing good about being here! I want to go _home_!"

"Shut up!" Mikaela screamed. Sam and Miles flinched, and all eyes darted to her as her shrill echo died off. Her face was lifted, its irritation on display for all. Her makeup had smudged even more since the last Sam had seen it, but no one found the strength to care. "We all want to go home, but freaking out isn't going to help. Nothing is going to help. If anything, you keep making noise, and they might just kill you."

The eighteen year-old glared coldly at the girl, who was now quiet but seeming to drip in frustration, before tucking her head away and retreating into her mind once again.

No one spoke up after that.

_Nothing is going to help…_

Sam glanced between his two silent friends. He thought about how it was that, in the end, the three of them had wound up here.

* * *

The Witwicky and Lancaster families waited outside of the neighborhood 7-Eleven together in the mercifully mild late-summer air. It was very humid, and only just barely below the threshold of what Sam would call 'unbearable.' If it had been even one degree hotter - or if the cooling breeze that was also helping calm his nerves wasn't there - Sam probably would've been complaining about more than the fact that they were being forced out of their homes.

"I wonder why they're moving north?" Mr. Lancaster was asking.

Judy Witwicky frowned. "Well, I don't care why they're doing it, but if we come back and everything's been blown to bits, I swear I'm gonna rip them a new one."

"A new what?" her husband asked loudly, announcing his return from the convenience store. The whole group turned towards Ron and Miles and the two bags of treats they shared. "Exhaust pipe? Judy, no one's ripping any of these things a new anything. Just let the armed forces keep trying to deal with it. If anyone can do something, it's them."

Miles snorted quietly as he sidled up next to his best friend. "Yeah, it's seemed to work so far," he muttered so that just Sam could hear him. "Which is why we're leaving our lives behind."

Faintly, Sam nodded. He fished around in the plastic bag Miles carried until he found his bottle of green tea. Offering a, "thanks, man," he opened it and had a fourth of its contents gone in about two seconds.

Ron turned to his son, eyes squinted just a little, suggesting impatience. "Sam, where's that girlfriend of yours? We can't wait forever – too much longer, and there won't be a chance that we'll get through all the traffic and out of here before the mechs arrive."

"I already told you, you guys can go ahead. I'm not leaving without Mikaela," Sam plainly stated. Ever since the day he'd given her a lift home in his junker of a car, he'd decided he wasn't going to give up on the girl of his dreams. She'd opened up to him on that ride, and – despite his fears of being forgotten – Mikaela Banes hadn't stopped talking to him, even in school where there were other people to see it.

It was only a matter of weeks before they had actually started to hang out, and only another matter of weeks before they'd started _going_ out.

That'd been almost seven months ago. No matter what the odds, the pair had grown pretty close over that time. Something about Sam's sincerity – and the fact that he found her knowledge of mechanics totally hot – kept her coming back for more. Miles could barely remember the time when Mikaela used to never give either one of them the time of day.

Ron sighed emphatically, and Judy started scolding him about wanting to crush young love and her prospects for grandchildren. Sam rolled his eyes and looked away, long since given up getting bothered by that.

For the next thirteen minutes, they all munched on snacks and discussed the theories behind the aliens' tactics.

"Hey, look, there they are!" Mrs. Lancaster pointed energetically, and out of nowhere. The group followed her gesture and, sure enough, Mikaela, her grandmother, and her not-quite-aunt were walking towards them in a group. Mikaela broke away when she spotted Sam and Miles.

Sam moved forward to meet her halfway, hugging her tightly in greeting.

"Hey," Mikaela said, hugging him back. She waved at Miles as she and Sam stepped away from each other. "Sorry we're late; Sandra kept holding us up."

"It doesn't matter," Ron waved to the side. "Just, let's go before we get trapped here, huh? You're coming with us, right?"

"Right," answered Mikaela's grandmother. "But Mickey is going with Sam."

"Yeah, so is Miles," agreed Mr. Lancaster. "I'm with Ron. Let's pile in and pull out."

The hurried greeting ended on that note, and the people split into three smaller groups on the spot. Sam, Miles, and Mikaela waved their families brief goodbyes, promising to keep in touch on cell-phones if they got split up at any point, and then headed for Sam's car (not before Mr. and Mrs. Lancaster could smother their son in hugs and kisses for 'luck').

No more than twenty seconds later – that had to be a record or something, Miles pointed out – all three vehicles were started, out of the parking lot, and filed up one behind the other on the street. The Lancasters led in their blue Kia, the Witwicky-Banes combo took middle in their green Porsche, and the teens took the rear in Sam's beat-up, faded red Camaro.

"So – what about those aliens, huh?" Miles asked, leaning forward from the backseat.

"Those mechanical bastards can go right back home," Mikaela said hotly, turning to look at him. "I mean, what's in Tranquility that any of them could want? I didn't like them before, but now…"

They had only gone several feet since the light at the intersection had just changed, and not one of the three cars was going to turn without knowing the others would be right behind them. Sam gave Miles and Mikaela his full attention. "I wonder if those rumors about using people as fuel have any merit. They do keep taking people everywhere they go."

Mikaela looked nauseous.

"I wouldn't bet on it. Unless they're Matrix-ing it, they'd probably just release chemicals to kill us first, then gather the dead bodies to throw them into the furnaces without all the kicking and screaming. We've been over this before," said Miles disappointedly. "They're using us as housemaids. It's a sad truth. Why else would they take everyone alive? If there's one thing the witnesses all say, it's that no one gets more than broken limbs before they're dragged off!"

Sam rolled his eyes and pulled forward – another few slow feet were gained as the Lancasters weighed whether or not all three cars could make it, and then they all started driving in earnest.

Mikaela also rolled her eyes. "We've all heard it, Miles. My question remains – how do we know if they're right? What if the captives are being killed right afterwards? No one knows, and no one is going to know, because no one…"

"… one ever comes back after they're taken, uh huh," Sam cut her off and beat her to the punch with a grin. "Something tells me we've had this conversation at least fifty-two times before."

"No way. No way it's been less than fifty-six," said an amazed Miles. Then, he started laughing.

The two boys began to playfully argue over how many times they had discussed the motives behind the abductions. Mikaela started to fiddle with the radio. She turned through static to settle the knob on a local news station, where a repeated, improvised emergency broadcast was being issued.

"…_and leave, in as orderly a fashion as possible. Follow the traffic directors. Evacuate calmly and respectfully. All people are urged to gather precious belongings and leave…_"

Mikaela switched stations. Sam and Miles moved on to debating whether or not humans would even make good sources of fuel for alien machines. "All the biochemical processes we go through? Miles, we could be like batteries if they kept us alive – all our ATP going to power their gimungo alien MP27 players," Sam was saying.

"… _leave their homes! The traffic copters show that all highways out of the district are being flooded. The train stations have ceased stopping the incoming trains at any of the stations. All trains are outbound, and every single one has been packed, according to Rachel. _

"_And, it's a sad sight looking over at the airport – all planes, of course, having been grounded since last month's attack on three passenger jets carrying evacuees. Thousands more could be leaving on those airliners as we speak…_

"_Sorry to interrupt,_" a new voice broke in, managing to grab Miles and Sam's attentions as well, "_but we're getting updates from the alert department. The most recent aerial scans of the approaching mechs have come back, although two of their recon machines have been shot down. They confirm an ETA of two and a half hours. They're urging that if you aren't already on one of the highways by now that congestion is bad enough that going on foot to a safezone might be a better option. They're also suggesting that no one head straight to one of the restricted Guards until after they've reached a major city or township. Otherwise, the Guards will be flooded, and they'll lose their safety, and people _will_ be turned away._"

The teens blinked at one another. They weren't on a highway just yet, but they were pretty close to one. Mikaela immediately fished out her cell phone and dialed her aunt.

"… Sandra? Yeah, did you guys just hear the announcement? … and Mrs. Witwicky is talking to Miles's parents? … yeah, we were just… okay. Sticking with the plan, got it." The conversation was quick, and Mikaela flipped her phone closed, although she left it nearby.

"She says we're sticking with the original plan, because we're just a couple minutes from the interstate now," the girl relayed.

Sam nodded the affirmative.

The roadways got progressively worse towards the on-ramps and after, but that was to be expected. The trio of cars, amazingly, managed not to get separated once. Once they eased into the crawl of the highway, Sam turned down the volume of the radio until it was only a dull buzz in the background to provide them with updates just in case they became important.

Even though they were inching their way through a mass of people fleeing their homes in order to save their lives from an alien menace, the drive was extremely boring. Sam suggested they play I-spy, but after every car within eyesight had been named at least twice, Miles called the game off.

That only took ten minutes, and maybe a hundred fifty feet. Which Mikaela said wasn't that bad, considering they could have been completely immobilized.

And then, the radio buzz gave a screech and shut off entirely. Miles, Mikaela, and Sam all stared at the thing as if it was about to start oozing blood.

"… Shit," Sam said.

Miles wildly reached forward and started to twist the knobs in every direction. "Crap! Sam, Mick, does this mean they hacked the un-hackable channels too?"

Sam remembered the first time all radio and digital signals went dead. Two years ago, now. March the 12th. It was only a few days later that the government had issued stations to use their forgotten frequencies to spread the word that – no prank, seriously! – alien robots were starting to attack the planet! It centered in the Americas, mostly, though written communications from Europe suggested that there were some attacks there and in mid-Asia.

A few more days after that, TV signals were all completely lost, and they hadn't come back since. Every once and a while, new radio frequencies were developed, each one more advanced and desperate in firewalls than the last (because the aliens were uber-hackers, and kept tearing down communications).

The latest attempts were said to have firewalls and encrypted access ways hundreds of thousands of characters long – thank you, secret government experimental technology groups from around the world – with more tricks in them than… a trick book, Sam supposed. They were supposed to be impossible to break – a defense that the aliens couldn't take down. Thus, radios had been running for the past few weeks.

But, as Mikaela and Miles started to curse the car radio vehemently, it sunk in that they wouldn't be working again.

Ever.

Sam's eyes widened. "Wait. If those signals are down, what about the phones?"

They exchanged glances. Miles dived for the cell phone Mikaela had left out. He stared at it for a moment, rather like he was holding a dead mouse, and then announced, "No signal. Blackness, my friends. Once again, communicational blackness."

"Hey, hey, let's calm down for a second," advised Mikaela. "We've been through this before, and we've pulled through before. As long as we keep following them, there's no problem. We're going to the same place. It's not that big a deal."

Which was true, Sam and Miles agreed. Although, Sam thought about how much had changed during the couple years when most communications were down, the internet had been prone to seizures that lasted months at a time, and even complete comas for the same duration.

True, not all cities had been disastrously affected. Tranquility was a pretty good example. Life went on as usually as it could given the circumstances. Many cities had changed to deal with the new adversities, and people the world over had, surely, commended the human race for its adaptability - not that they could know for certain, since it was awfully difficult communicating within country borders let alone globally.

There were some towns, though, that had been decimated, and others had changed beyond recognition. Complete sections of the United States had ceased city-living, and multiple 'bases' had been constructed as safe havens for army groups, resistance fighters, and refugees. These had come to be known as 'guards' in the popular imagination of those who'd only heard rumors about them. Entire lives had morphed into unrecognizable forms in some cases, while others remained mostly untouched. Unwitting prophets of the past had been absolutely right, in all cases, when they said that if electronics and the internet were suddenly to stop working, life as everyone knew it would change. Just… some places more than others.

"Traffic is moving, so it's all good. We'll be a state over by the time they reach our district," Miles said.

"Yeah, of course," Sam agreed in earnest.

So, instead of worrying, the teens started talking about the last school year (which had centered more on practical skills than anything academic), and what their plans for the future had been.

Miles, at one point, steered the conversation into one revolving around 'Mojo's perspective,' in which each teen posited how Mojo would see and react to a situation that one of the others came up with. The yappy Chihuahua in the vehicle ahead provided much needed entertainment spanning almost an hour.

"What's that?" Mikaela interrupted right as Sam was describing what Mojo would do if he were robotic. She pointed.

There were people in the road – the traffic directors mentioned earlier – splitting cars up, directing them to exits, median-crossings and beyond.

The further the three cars pulled forward, the more and more it looked like they were going to be directed to take different routes. Right as the first car of their trio reached the traffic men and fear spiked, however…

_It_ happened.

Sam could see his dad rolling down the window and leaning out, shouting ahead to the man talking with Mr. Lancaster. He was insisting that the three cars needed to stay together, when the ground gave an ominous _boom!_

All conversations died, and people began rolling down windows and looking around.

"The heck?" Miles breathed out, clambering over to a backseat window and pressing his face against the glass. "This is a weird time for an earthquake…"

The world seemed to stand still.

Now, Sam thought back on all this with a hesitant memory. Up until that point, everything he recalled – from the first time he heard they had to evacuate until the booming on the highway – was very surreal. When he remembered it, he had a feeling that he was skipping parts, because there was no way that the hour long drive had been that short or uneventful.

Or, it might've all been wishful thinking… because everything that happened after occurred in a matter of minutes, yet seemed to be set at the same pace.

Just as Sam started to stick his head out of his window, muttering the same 'what the heck' as Miles, something pushed aside the trees on the left side of the highway.

A mech with dark red optics and a mostly maroon colored paint scheme stepped out, surveying the lineup of cars. A couple steps to his right, a smaller, red mech appeared, grinning madly.

The teens drew backwards in the car.

"ETA was way wrong," Mikaela managed as she absentmindedly started to fumble with her door in preparation to flee, literally for her life.

Then the larger of the two mechs spoke, breaking many a reserve when he said, "Look's like we got a nice pick now. Go for the young adults."

The moment the words left its 'mouth,' car doors all over flew open and people poured out, running in every direction save for where the mechs stood. Sam and Miles and Mikaela all raced from the car, darting to join up with their families on the way.

"I got a pair!" one of the mech's said – the red one, Sam noted in the very, very back of his mind – and then the robot began to move. The Witwicky, Lancaster and Banes families all seemed to grab onto one another before making the silent agreement that they should run for the trees on their side of the road.

Judy grabbed her son by the arm, refusing to be separated from him at a time like this; Mojo was held haphazardly in her other arm. Mikaela's not-quite-aunt pushed her in front of them all, while the girl's grandmother – although relatively young – fell slightly behind.

"I think I've got my targets," said the other mech, and he too jumped into action.

In the mess of people and cars and vegetation that was wet from a recent rain, everything was a blur. The three families ran into the shelter of the trees, flanked widely by other fleeing people, ducking and weaving and hoping to lose the interest of the attackers.

"We gotta hide somewhere!" Mikaela cried out desperately. "There's no way we outrun one of them!"

"There's nothing but tall grass and trees – they'll find us anyway!" Mrs. Lancaster yelled back over the rising voices and, to everyone's fright, the muffled sound of gunfire from what had to be the red mech, given the distance of it.

Judy gave a mighty shriek as something whizzed over her head, and then the entire top half of the man-made forest in front of them was leveled in an explosion of leaves, bark, and pine needles. Sam glanced about frantically, trying to differentiate things. He wanted to look back so badly, but didn't dare.

Mikaela dared, however, when a mess of metal mesh whisked right by her. It made her stumble, thus causing Sandra and then Sam (who was slightly behind the woman) to stumble as well.

When the three families turned collectively, their hearts skipped beats.

The maroon mech was leveling a weapon of some sort _directly at them_. Even worse, it said darkly, "Three for one."

Ron suddenly shook his son, and then the lot of them were running again, darting to the side. The man shouted over the ruckus, "It's after you kids. There's gotta be tree debris you can hide under now!"

Mikaela looked at him wildly.

"We need to get you all concealed," Mrs. Lancaster agreed, fishing Miles out and pushing him before her. "Go left!" she cried out.

Like sheep, they all listened without question.

"There," Mikaela's grandmother pointed at a pine tree whose top half had collapsed about fifty feet ahead and to the right. "We run past that, you all dive under."

"That's not going to work!" Sam shouted back.

"It's all we have," his dad informed, and Sam realized with a start – a sickening, heart breaking, horrible start – that the man was crying. Sam didn't know when it started, but his father had water in his eyes. And, the more Sam looked at the other adults, he realized that they, too, were crying.

This could not be happening! No way this was happening. It was all way too fast, too fast! Sam and Mikaela and Miles looked between themselves. Too fast. Three days ago they'd been walking around Tranquility like it was any other day. That morning, the report had come in. They'd been driving, nothing too serious. Two minutes ago they had been safe and sound in a car.

Now they were sprinting through a ravaged wood, apparently the hunting prospects of one of the giant mechs.

This had to be a dream because, Sam reasoned, if this was really happening, it wouldn't be happening so quickly. It was too fake to be real.

Even as his parents and friends shoved them into and under the branches of the fallen tree, he didn't believe it.

He was Sam Witwicky, a 'geek.' He was pretty wimpy, liked games and computers, got okay grades, nothing special. It was Miles Lancaster – a boy in the same boat as him, but more free-spirited. It was Mikaela Banes. Sam praised the powers that were for her looks and her skills with cars, that she eventually noticed him, and that they were three good friends now, but that was it. They were just three kids, no more special than any others.

This wasn't right.

The three crawled beneath the branches, hoping beyond hope that the mech couldn't see them. Sam and Miles stared after their family with stony looks as the adults scattered, leaving them behind with barely a word. Mikaela – tears free on her face – watched as they disappeared from sight and then lowered her gaze to the ground in an attempt to keep from sobbing and giving away their position.

From generally relaxing in a car to sobbing beneath a pine tree in minutes. Another record, Miles might have noted.

The irritating scent of real pine filled the teens' noses, their eyes all cast downward and guarded against the bristling needles that fell all around and above them. Sam sought out Mikaela's hand, and she touched fingers with him softly, conveying all her confusion and incredulity.

What felt like hours passed under those thick, pointy branches, though all three teenagers knew that wasn't the case. The duration of time that did expire, however, left the clearing quiet, and they began to wonder if anyone – alien or not – was still there at all.

A whistling of air was the only warning they had before the tree-cover was yanked up entirely and dropped to the side. The three scrabbled to their feet, pausing only long enough to be assured that the maroon mech was above them.

They made to scatter for themselves.

The moment Sam managed to turn and start to gain momentum, a force collided with his back. Suddenly, Sam found the edges of a net whipping past his face and causing him to spill forward, tripping over splintered branches and trunks, landing face-first in another nest of pine needles. Not even thinking, he cried "run!" to his friends as loud as he could, spitting out needles and looking up and thankfully finding that they were doing just that.

Even as Sam resorted to thrashing and trying to crawl out, earning multiple cuts and bruises from the pricking tree-remnants, he heard Mikaela yelp. Sam's gaze shot to her, and he saw her trapped in the same sort of net, tumbling head over foot, crashing into a frayed tree trunk as she did so.

Sam just managed to look up to glare at the mech before it discharged another net at Miles. Sam didn't see his best friend go down, but the rustling of leaves and grunting that followed after the shot could only be the blonde teen.

"Three for one," the mech repeated, annoyingly smug. "I've got mine, Redirect. We can call down the transport."

Sam didn't know who the mech was talking to, and he didn't exactly care at this point.

Mikaela struggled against the thinly weaved netting so that she could turn to see her boyfriend. She finally met his eye as their captor stepped over to her and grabbed both her and the net. "Sam!" she exhaled roughly as her sides were squeezed and she was lifted into the air. The mech fumbled around with the girl and the net. He set them back down a moment later, but it was apparent that the 'net' had been closed into more of a bag. The mech stepped over to Miles and did the same, then approached Sam.

He cringed at the large fingers that were none too gentle in flipping and rolling him about. The metal wiring that made up the mesh stung sharply for a split second. After that, the ends of it snapped towards one another like a magnet, and Sam found himself bagged just like his friends.

In the same unrealistic manner as everything else, the sky seemed to quiver then faded to reveal a large, black craft over in the direction of the highway. It lowered below Sam's line of sight, but a great crunch of metal pointed to the craft being dropped on top of the lines of cars.

"The trading post should be happy with this lot. All in fair shape, young, and even an extra item," Maroon continued talking to the air. The mech walked back around and snatched up Mikaela and Miles. The careless mech held Sam and Miles with the same hand by tightening his fingers around the spare bits of mesh. The boys were left dangling, frightfully so, and knocking against one another. Mikaela was held more firmly in the other of the monster's hands. The mech started walking.

"Where are you taking us?" Mikaela demanded.

Maroon glanced down at her. "Shush yourself, female. The fewer questions, the better." And that was all the answer any of them got.

"You better be wrong about that stupid fuel," Miles hissed at Sam. Sam deftly nodded and tried to keep from grabbing at the net too much.

As their captor stepped back into the cleared highway, the red mech became visible. The mech held two humans, one in either hand. A screaming young woman inhabited one, a deathly still young teen boy in the other.

"Injuries?" the red mech asked instead of greeted.

"Bruises, lacerations, and scrapes at the worst. You?" answered Maroon.

"Eh," Red shrugged. "Mostly those, but she put up such a fight, I think she fractured a limb. Nothing that can't be fixed, though, so the value is retained."

Value? The three teens couldn't figure out the application of that word.

The two mechs abruptly switched to speaking in what had to be their native tongue. Red led the way onto the ship. Maroon stepped up after him, and the ramp closed shortly after that with a whooshing of air.

From what Sam could make of it, the ship was definitely as huge on the inside as it was on the outside. The small range of vision provided to him because of the net revealed completely metallic surroundings. The two mechs walked down several hallways and past multiple doors. Doors, all teens noted, that were larger than their captors by a great deal. It reminded them that this was the first time they had been in contact with one of the robots, and they were much larger in person than simple printed numbers could convey.

"Alien abduction added to my list of life experiences," Sam breathed out shakily. On his back in the dangled bag and not able to rotate his neck, there wasn't much for him to see.

The pair of mechs found the door they were looking for. It opened with the same air-locking sound the last entrance closed with, and both aliens stepped into the room. Sam, Mikaela, and Miles all inhaled in fright as they seemed to go falling to the ground, only to realize that they were simply being lowered to it. Another stinging jolt ran through the net – this one much more potent than the first and causing Miles to yelp in shock – and then they fell open.

Red's captives ran past Sam before the teen had even managed to crawl to his feet. He and his friends slipped away from their netting and also scrabbled back without even looking where they were going.

To Mikaela's surprise, she ran right into another person. The teens spun about, and realized that they were not alone in the room.

Eight other people (including the two who had been tossed in at the same time as them) were already there, and each looked frightened by the presence of the two mechs.

"We've reached quota. Get Shutdown in here and we can fire up the engines," said Red. He and Maroon gathered the now-empty nets and exited.

"Quota?" some girl or another whispered. Miles looked around to discover that it was the girl that Red had just brought in.

Sam could tell from the way she cradled her arm that the limb was definitely broken. Dried tears ran down her face and she looked ready to resume crying at any second.

The room wasn't cramped in the least. It was very spacious given that only eleven humans were in it. There were several box-looking structures at the base of one wall. Like the rest of the ship that he had seen, Sam saw that everything was made of metal, and it didn't seem like any other substance existed in the room save for the people held in it. Four lights with a yellow tint lined the ceiling in parallel rows, but no one could discern any switches from the rest of the wall.

Worst of all, there were no windows.

"Just where are we?" Mikaela asked.

Sam hesitated in actually looking his girlfriend over. All three had been preoccupied with scanning their new surroundings to give one another much heed. When Sam did look, he felt himself shudder.

Mikaela's face had been scraped by the trunk she had tripped into, albeit thinly, and not enough to draw blood. Her left arm had several bleeding cuts on it, as did her left leg. Her right leg was pale from peeled but uncut skin, and her clothes were stained with grass, leaves and pine needles sticking up from her hair. Not to mention her makeup, which had started to run about her eyes.

Miles didn't look much the worse for wear, save for a long scrape down his right arm that would surely bruise beautifully if given the time.

Sam didn't know just how he looked, but from the burning of his skin, he suspected that the bed of needles he had fallen right into had left his face red and irritated and quite possibly cut up. He knew that beyond bruising from being knocked around, his legs were fine beneath his jeans. His arms tingled from the electrified net and being slammed into trees and prickly debris, but there were only several tiny gashes on them, and nothing that would take more than a few days to heal well enough.

"No one knows," said a muscular young man. "The first of us were thrown in here earlier today. All trapped in a hunt or something."

"Have any other aliens been in here?" Sam asked quietly, not quite realizing he had spoken.

"Just the ones that caught us," the same man answered.

Sam glanced at Mikaela. The girl was staring straight ahead into a wall. She looked hesitantly to Sam and then Miles.

"We didn't get to say goodbye," she said. "We just broke off – they ran off, they won't know until they don't find us." The teen was eerily calm as she stated the facts. "We're never going to see our families again."

As true as it was, and as heartbreaking as it should have been, not one of the trio could do anything but stare blankly. They couldn't cry, couldn't scream… it simply didn't feel real, and so they didn't feel a need to react.

Sam couldn't begin to comprehend never seeing his crazy parents again.

"At least we're all here together," Miles pointed out in an uncharacteristically timid voice.

So they all sat down together, staying quiet, trying to come to terms with themselves and using their friends' presences as solace.

It had been about five minutes when a green and blue mech entered the room flanked by two smaller, blackish robots. The people had scurried back, but the imposing alien had merely clasped his hands behind his back and started to talk, leveling them with a solid red stare.

They had no other choice but to listen in silence as it was confirmed that after this day, they wouldn't even be thought of as people anymore.

* * *

Sam sighed deeply. Yeah. It had all happened way too quickly to be given merit to. If he hadn't personally experienced it, he would've assumed it never happened. Geek-like as he was, he had never imagined being able to go from driving to alien-abducted and family-less within thirty minutes. Neither had Mikaela or Miles, it seemed.

"Here's an 'at least,'" he said with a faulty grin in the direction of his friends. Miles tilted his head questioningly. "We're not going to be used for fuel or as cell phone batteries."

Despite it all, Mikaela snorted; Miles gave a grin that looked halfway forced and halfway genuine. The girl shamelessly lifted part of her shirt and made a point of wiping away the makeup from her face. She had to spit on her hand and rub the skin to help work off the cosmetics, but in the end the smudges and stains were removed from her.

"I'm glad you're here, you guys," she said at length, eyes watery but no tears.

Miles agreed with a very serious nod. "I wouldn't want to get captured and sold into captivity - whatever that means - with anyone else by my side. Our folks would at least be happy that we have each other right now."

"So right," said Sam. "So right. While we're leaving the atmosphere, then… who's up for a game of I-spy?" he asked.

Mikaela gave a laugh-hiccup and promptly smacked Sam on the side of the head.

Even though their worlds had been flipped over, turned inside out, and washed away…

… at least they weren't going through it alone.

* * *

**A.N.s**

The only thing I can think to comment on is the pacing here. You may think it fast or jumpy, but – for this opening chapter at least – that's done intentionally. It is, after all, supposed to convey how Sam remembers the events, and it all seemed more than rushed to him. A heads up: the jumpy style will NOT be maintained throughout the entire story and (like other techniques) will only be appearing if it's to make a point.

Also, updates on this one might be a while in between... I'm going through the college application/scholarship application process, as well as juggling a Full IB senior year. I simply CANNOT guarantee an update schedule. I immensely apologize for that (as its one of my peeves), but I can't control it.


	2. Life Behind Bars

**Title: **Property Of

**Rating: **T – a couple 'bad' words in here

**Summary:** During Cybertronian 'peace,' ex-Cons hide the sentience of and sell humans as pets to secure Earth. Sam and Mikaela might just be the first to grasp the reality of the situation alongside their new owner.

**Chapter:** Life Behind Bars

About a million and one apologies for the wait. Don't EVER go full IB, EVER. This year blows thanks to that stupid program… I made a promise to myself that, no matter what, I'd get this chapter completed and posted within 2 days of X-mas. So, here goes.

Since it was rushed – surprisingly so, given that I've had two months to finish it – this chapter is not my favorite stylistically (also due to the fact that it's not really until the next couple chapters that mechs start appearing for significant stretches of time). Hopefully, you'll be able to forgive me for that. If not, I apologize.

I gave the chapter a couple read-throughs of proofing, but that's still nowhere near what I consider complete. I'll probably still be editing it for typos after it's posted. If you find typos/errors, please notify me of them so that I may efficiently dispose of them in a neat, merciless manner which may or may not involve miniature virtual plasma cannons. Many thanks.

Since a non-human language will be appearing, I give you the dialogue chart.

"_**Hello**_" = Cybertronian

/ _**Hello **_/ = Cybertronian over comm. links

"Hello" = regular ol' English

* * *

Sam was pretty sure that the reality of the situation hadn't sunken in yet. He wondered if it ever would.

"How far do you think we are from Earth right now?" he asked aloud.

Sam was on his back, shifting constantly because the cold, hard metal got irritating after any stretch of time. Mikaela was in a similar position on his left. Miles was sitting cross-legged, chin propped in a hand, to his right. The other captives were sprawled out throughout the room, and not a whole lot of talking could be heard.

Miles looked thoughtfully to the ceiling. With squinted eyes he said, "I'm guessing Jupiter."

"How do you figure?" Mikaela inquired, genuinely curious.

Miles shrugged. "Because I want to be going past Jupiter. Man, the least the robots coulda done was leave us a window or something. The one chance I'll ever have at seeing the planets, dashed. All my dreams… dust." He hanged his head in distress. "What about you? What's your bet?"

"Hmm… How long has it been since we got in here? Fifty minutes? An hour?" she asked. Sam shrugged and nodded. He told her, "about." Mikaela nodded to herself and then said, "Then I'm going to have to go with Jupiter, too. Sam?"

Sam sat up some. "Now, taking into account that we probably took off not long after Mr. Seasick stomped off, I'd say Saturn." They all understood 'Mr. Seasick' to be the green and blue mech who had informed them of their fates; Mikaela had randomly pointed out that the colors reminded her of a queasy person.

"And how do you figure that?" Mikaela repeated.

"… Because Saturn is my favorite."

"Way to pick the girly planet, bro," Miles chided. He shook his head in disappointment. "Of all the planets, you go with the one with the rings. Not some manly planet like Jupiter or Neptune. No. The girly ring-planet." The blonde 'tsk tsked.' "Only Venus could have been lamer."

Sam pouted. "But its atmosphere does wonders for your complexion in the short moments before its temperature burns you to a crisp. Though, I've heard that crispy is the latest trend."

Mikaela rolled her eyes.

The popping of pressure made the three friends stop talking. The door to the room slid open and several drones entered. Humans became on guard in a split second, moving away from the intruders, but it didn't prevent each giant from claiming a human. Six were taken: the broken-armed redheaded girl, the man she'd been tagged with, a teen Hispanic-looking boy who also seemed to have a broken arm, the emotionally-crazy girl of before, and a young-twenties looking couple – the guy with short, light-brownish hair and plenty of cuts along his arms, the girl a brunette-with-red-tint with a disturbingly large bruise forming along her neck and disappearing under her shirt.

Each human was grabbed with steady hands before being whisked into the air and carried right back out of the room.

The door closed in a few moments more. Other than the decreased number of people, it was like nothing had happened. Even the silence, which should have been unnerving, wasn't precisely 'new.'

"Um…?" the well-muscled young adult who had tried to talk down Crazy Girl asked loudly.

"Well… just give it a second," Sam said. "That mech said they were going to 'treat us for damages' or something like that…right? They did say that, didn't they?"

Mikaela nodded fervently.

Miles and Muscles exchanged glances, then Muscles, Sam, and Black Guy exchanged glances, then Sam and Mikaela, and then everyone together. Just when the lot of discombobulated humans started to get extremely uncomfortable with the lack of spoken word, Black Guy spoke up.

"Throwing this out there – you can call me Jamie." When he received blank looks, he added, "Just thought we might want to know each others' first names…"

"Oh! Duh," Miles grinned. "Brothers in Abduction, I get it. It's Miles."

"Sam," Sam offered with a hesitant shrug.

Mikaela nodded. "Yeah, Mikaela."

"Wish the circumstances were better, but, Connor," Muscles said with a semi-nod of his own.

"…Yeah," concluded Jamie. "Nice to meet you guys."

The other four continued to exchange glances, but they agreed with nods and awkward smiles.

"So… how did you two get caught?" Sam ventured with a weird, ducking sort of motion with his upper body, as if openly admitting that this was the weirdest thing he'd ever done yet not caring about it.

"Don't know about him," started Connor with a gesture towards Jamie, "but my family was about to leave the country – going to San Juan." He blinked, not certain if the silence that followed his words was from attention or from a lack of understanding. "You know, Puerto Rico? We're from Oklahoma. They got us in Louisiana…" He glanced around, signaling his 'conclusion.'

"Just… snatched from the streets, walking around Sacramento," Jamie said.

"…We're all Nevada – Tranquility," Mikaela told them. "These guys get around."

Sam glanced about. He tapped the floor a couple times. "Uh, families? I mean, do you have them?"

And so it went for about half an hour. Surprisingly – or unsurprisingly, given the circumstances – the awkward feel of the conversation never died down. It was more than uncomfortable at times, but not speaking would have been even more so, and so all five pushed forward regardless of discomfort for everyone else's sakes.

However, the drones eventually returned to cut the dialogue short. Only four of the six humans were brought back – the broken-armed girl and the Hispanic guy weren't among the returnees.

The drones placed their humans firmly on the ground before turning on the five they'd left behind originally.

In vain Sam tried to get a good look at one of the humans that'd been brought back, but the drones efficiently blocked them from sight. Instead, he and Jamie were each taken in hand – firmly, he noted, but very conscientious of causing injury – as another took Miles and Mikaela, the final picking up a struggling Connor.

The three aliens then exited swiftly and precisely. Again, Sam made an effort to get a look at someone who'd come back, but he only barely caught a glimpse of Crazy Girl, who was sporting new, green-gray, baggy clothes (if they even _were_ clothes).

Sam wriggled about the entire trip. If the faint sounds of rustling clothes were anything to go by, so was everyone else.

Bit by bit the group traveled down bland metal hallway after bland metal hallway, which led Sam to wonder why there were so many hallways. About five hallways and a weird elevator-thing later found everyone at a large silver door with a dim red light over its frame. When the first drone approached it, the light changed to bright yellow-green and opened.

There were four mechs in the room, each stationed at a table. Sam recognized one of the mechs from the hunting party – the one that _hadn't_ tagged him and his friends. The drones fanned out about the room, going in separate directions and effectively splitting the humans up.

Sam found himself unceremoniously placed before a blue mech, pressed firmly onto the tabletop in an instruction to stay put. His primary concern was not moving, but locating his friends. The teen glanced about, trying to figure out which mechs Miles and Mikaela had been landed with.

He took a moment to appreciate that no matter how horrible his sense of time was, it couldn't have been more than four hours ago that he'd been sitting at home, relatively safe and cozy, and now he, his girlfriend, and his best friend were alien captives… and that it didn't really shake him as much as it should have.

…Clearly, he still wasn't processing this fully.

The blue and black mech he'd been assigned apparently did not appreciate his wandering attention. Sam cried out a "hey!" in shock as cold metal fingers closed swiftly around his body. He was pulled closer, and the mech lowered its face: a chilling configuration of sharp red optics, no mouth other than a mesh of loosely disconnected metal plates, and a deep gouge along the thing's right side.

Somewhere else in the room, a masculine voice called out "the hell?" Despite having only just met him, Sam thought it sounded like Connor.

A purple-blue light engulfed Sam. He recoiled, but the hand held him tightly. Shortly after, a greenish light played over his clothes, and this time Sam felt his hairs stand on end.

Freedom! The hand that restrained him let him go and backed off. The blue and black mech stared off into thin air for a long moment before clicking to himself. After six clicks, its attention returned to its human specimen.

This time Sam was prepared for the hand coming out to grab him so he didn't jump. In his mind, it was better to grin and bear it and do what Mr. Seasick had suggested and not get killed. He'd never been the best student, but even he understood that it made more sense to ignore personal boundaries and live than to get finicky and get swatted to death.

Or, that was his philosophy until the fingers began grasping at his pants with little pincer-like extensions and started tugging at them.

No way was he getting probed!

Sam struggled gloriously, kicking with all the free space he had and – quite possibly – stubbing his toe in the process. He cursed the alien under his breath and writhed between its unwelcome fingers.

The mech permitted this behavior for all of about a minute before flicking its wrist joints and pushing the young human backwards onto the tabletop, pinning him. A series of whirs and hisses assaulted Sam's ears. They sounded none too pleased. Instinctually, the teen froze, very seriously fearing for his continued existence.

The blue and black mech stopped making the irritated sounds. Sam fought every urge to 'flee the threat' as the mech went about removing first his shirt and then his pants. Pinned down by large fingers in nothing but his boxers, Sam was struck by the strange thought that he was glad he hadn't worn briefs.

The mech then turned from Sam, gathering something out of the boy's range of sight. Sam exhaled like he'd just been set free. Then, the robot looked back at him. It studied him a moment before reaching towards him with a finger that had some pinkish-white goo on it. The mech tensed the hand pinning Sam down, warning him to remain still, and then proceeded to apply the goop.

It was cold and felt like thick pudding. Sam inhaled from shock rather than pain each time it touched his skin (he was reminded of Miles pressing cold cans and bottles against his arms and neck and stomach, demanding that Sam 'take it like a man'). He wondered if his friends were going through the same thing elsewhere in the room.

It took a few moments before Sam realized the goop was being applied to all the places that had felt sore on his body, or were scraped.

When the mech was finished applying the goo, he reached away for the spare cloth. Presumably, it was to wipe his finger off; Sam couldn't actually see that action, either.

Then, the mech loosened his hold. He tilted Sam upwards and then let go of him completely, taking hold instead of a baggy piece of green-gray fabric that Sam immediately remembered seeing on Crazy Girl. The mech fit the cloth onto the teen a little more gently than he had removed the originals.

The robot at last removed his hands from the table and simply looked the final product over.

…Sam met its piercing red gaze only because he didn't know where else to look.

Sam twitched when the mech whistled briefly, shifting its optics elsewhere. He turned to see what it was looking at, and spotted a drone coming over to reclaim him.

The two exchanged 'words' before the shorter, blackened drone picked Sam up and moved to another countertop. There, Miles – now sporting the same bland garments – was slid towards them by the hand of a silver mech.

The drone easily took Miles into his other hand and promptly left the room. The two other drones met up with one another, sporting Mikaela, Jamie, and Connor, attesting to the well-timed precision of it all.

…Damn robots.

"Dude, you could never pull that look off on Earth," Miles called out from the drone's opposite hand.

Sam – who, the way he was held, could not face Miles – simply called back, "I wouldn't want to try."

The drone's grip tensed. Sam wisely chose to stop talking. In place of talking, he tried to count the bolts in the ceiling. That practice was discontinued when they reached the holding room again.

They were all placed back onto the ground and the drones left as if nothing had occurred.

Miles, Sam, and Mikaela turned to one another. They released a collective sigh of relief when they realized their counterparts all had at least some visible trace of the pinkish-white goo smeared onto their skins.

Mikaela was about to open her mouth when her eyes caught sharply on something behind Miles.

"What's with them?" she breathed out roughly.

Sam and Miles both followed her line of sight and discovered, with a stab of disbelief and fright, that each individual from the group taken first was out cold on the ground, pretty much in the same positions that they'd been placed into.

"Are they dead?" ventured Sam. What he meant to say was something along the lines of, 'how the hell did we miss that coming back in?'

Not a single word was uttered for several heavy seconds. Then Miles said, "No, man – I think they're… sleeping?"

Sure enough, when Sam took a few steps forward and studied a single body long enough he saw the chest rising and falling in a slow but steady rhythm.

"But all of them?" Mikaela said in disbelief.

"… It's probably something in the stuff they gave us," Jamie said warily. "They all have it all over them," he indicated the salve smeared over parts of the unconscious prisoners.

Mikaela grabbed about herself, brushing some of her own excess application off onto her right index finger. She scrutinized it, holding the sample close to her eyes. It offered her none of its secrets and was soon wiped off onto the folds of pale, greenish cloth.

Well, it made sense to Sam that the aliens wouldn't go through all this trouble and then just kill them when they could much more easily have knocked them all out back on Earth.

Connor wordlessly walked over to a wall. Without giving much heed to the others, he slid down it and sat on the floor. Then he tilted his head back and stared mutely at the ceiling.

"Are you okay?" Miles called out somewhat timidly.

"Not really," was all Connor responded with, but it was neither biting nor angry – merely a statement. His empty but honest tone left little room for discussion, and definitely did not suggest an elaboration was coming any time soon.

No one was willing to press, considering they all felt the same.

A couple minutes passed in quiet. Sam busied himself by messing with his new clothes. Jamie sat down in place. Miles looked like he was about to sit several different times, but always thought better of it for some reason. And then, Mikaela nearly fell forward.

They all looked at her.

The girl had saved herself right before toppling over, though she seemed to be swaying like a long piece of grass in the breeze.

"Mikaela? 'Kaela?" Sam's eyebrows furrowed in baffled concern. His girlfriend barely answered him. She swept her eyes in his direction and wavered again. With a great yawn, she practically fell to the ground only to right herself to a sitting position once there. "Mikaela!" exclaimed Sam and Miles in unison.

Miles moved forward, only to frown. "That's weird," he said a bit sluggishly. "I just started feeling really tired..." The teen began moving his arms about to test muscle response.

Sam, heedless of his best friend's sudden ailment, sidled up to Mikaela, who seemed to be trying to talk, but was producing no audible sounds at all.

"Mikaela, what's wrong?" demanded Sam (and was it just him, or did his voice sound fuzzy around the edges?).

The girl never fully answered. She nodded, perhaps, and then slid to her side and cuddled up with herself. Within moments she was asleep.

Miles tapped his foot against the floor to draw attention. He was still flapping his arms about experimentally when he garnered the interest of Sam, Connor, and Jamie. "That stuff – setting in."

Jamie opened his mouth to speak, but stopped and rubbed his eyes instead. He opened them wide several times before announcing, very slowly, "My vision's going." He, too, started to move back and forward bit by bit, whether trying to focus his eyes or simply swaying no one knew. Either way, it was probably a wise move when he lowered to his side preemptively.

"Fast shit," Connor said just as Sam found himself going inexplicably weak in the knees. Sam shakily lowered himself to the ground and, finding that he hadn't the strength to stay sitting, stretched out on his back. The idea of sleeping for a while didn't actually seem that bad…

There was a thud as someone fell – Sam wondered who that could be – and then Miles let out a low, irritated "ow." His best friend's groaning was the last thing Sam heard before the beautifully nondescript world of alien drug-induced sleep overtook him.

The sleep was dreamless but flawless. Never had Sam Witwicky slept so heavily before in his life. In fact, when he awoke, it took him a complicated moment to recall that he wasn't in his bedroom, wasn't in Tranquility, wasn't on his planet anymore.

The waking process itself was strange. Consciously, the first thing Sam did was stretch, while simultaneously groaning without meaning to. One part of his side felt funny due to the hard floor, and all of his insides felt strangely tingly. His eyes were a bit cloudy, but some rubbing and groaning did away with that. He sat up with a lengthy yawn and looked about with partially lidded eyes.

Yep. Bunch of strangers in various states of consciousness sprawled about, Miles drooling on the floor, Mikaela twitching awake, giant metal room…

Giant metal room. Sam could hear the conveyor belt of his mind screech to a halt and start to roll the items he'd checked off backwards. Hmm… metal room and strangers. Oh yes, that was right. He had been abducted by aliens. Now that everything made perfect sense, the conveyor belt continued rolling.

"Good to have another person up," someone said drowsily.

Sam jerked involuntarily and glanced about at the speaker. Sam recognized him as the person the broken-armed woman had been tagged with.

Uncertain of speaking, Sam just nodded. The man didn't want to talk either, apparently, because he looked away and let Sam focus on Mikaela.

The teen leaned over her and placed a hand gently on her arm. The girl twitched again, a bit more strongly than her other shudders. "Mikaela, it's me," Sam told her just as quietly, not wanting to startle her anymore than was bound to happen. "It's fine. Nothing happened to us while we were out… I think."

"Out?" she grumbled groggily, bringing one of her hands up and rubbing her face a bit. She opened her eyes at last and did a once-over of the room. They promptly narrowed. "Oh, right," she muttered, her voice having returned to normal.

Steadily, it seemed, everyone was coming out of their stupors.

"Does anyone know how long we've been out?" Mikaela prompted of the room at large.

The Hispanic guy – who had to have been returned at some point, and who Sam had thought was still sleeping, but was obviously just laying down – spoke up, "No way. There's no windows or nothing in here – no way to tell what time it is. Trust me, we've been wondering."

"Hey – how's your arm feeling?" mumbled the brunette-with-red-tint.

Hispanic glanced down at his busted limb. He moved it in a way that made Sam wince. Sam had broken his arm before, trying to pull a stupid stunt on some monkey bars, and he knew that that motion would have hurt. "Good, actually. Musta been something in that stuff they gave us. 'Lot better than yesterday."

"Thought you didn't know how much time had passed," Jamie said suddenly. Again, Sam hadn't even realized he was awake.

"I don't," said the guy in question. "I just feel like it is. And since no one can prove otherwise…"

Mikaela pressed her forehead back down, against an arm. Though he'd just woken, Sam thought he felt the same. It was too much listening to this already, too early (although it could be midnight for all he knew, assuming empty space even had designated times), too much uncertainty.

A few feet away, Miles continued to snooze and drool, contentedly oblivious.

The conscious Connor spoke up in the background – seeming a thousand miles away – "Doesn't _anyone_ have a watch? Even if it doesn't keep track of dates or anything?" The idea sounded like a pretty obvious thing to have overlooked. That was probably why when Brunette-with-Red-Tint said back, "Those stupid machines took everything," it wasn't very surprising to Sam.

"And I thought 'yesterday' was bad," Mikaela said, using unenthusiastic air quotes for the time reference, and sitting up at last. "I feel like today is going to last forever."

Sam merely shrugged, secretly thinking that if the previous 'day' had elapsed so quickly, surely today would be just as fast.

Both turned out to be correct.

Much of the day crept by in an agonizing pace, filled with unnatural silence and even more unnatural dialogue, personal reflection that led down one too many dark – and now metal – hallways, and remarkable boredom. It was true that Sam had never given the idea of alien abduction much thought, but even then, he hadn't expected it to be this boring.

However, parts of the day were punctuated by intense moments that brought the rest of it all into perspective.

About an hour after Miles woke up, Mr. Seasick returned to stand watch as two drones entered the room and placed two small, topless boxes on the floor. The drones left quickly, but Mr. Seasick stood sentinel in the doorway, red optics gleaming harshly into the room.

No one moved under that gaze. Mr. Seasick glared at them for several seconds and then pointedly pointed – Sam actually twitched at that one – at one of the boxes. No one moved. Then Mr. Seasick jabbed his arm again, an angry rush of air coming from between some mechanics or other, and someone felt it prudent to move. Brunette's boyfriend inched over to the box and hesitantly looked inside it. Under the mech's watchful, intense gaze, he reached into it and pulled out a bag.

It took several moments more for the young man to open the bag and, not knowing what else to do, sniff at it. When he inhaled, he quirked his head.

"I think that it's food," he announced to his fellow captives. He reached into the baggie and pulled a light-brown substance out. It did not look unlike bread. The young man raised it to his mouth and took a bite, chewed, let a suspenseful silence build, then said, "Yeah, it's food."

Mr. Seasick had been waiting for this realization. Once it had been made, he left. The rest of the room then passed out the bags and ate their contents: the brown substance (which actually had the consistency of bread), a lighter-brown thing that felt similar to playdoh but tasted like a mix of overcooked eggs and steamed broccoli topped with cheese (Sam nearly spat the thing out in surprise), and an orange thing which, most startlingly, tasted like a blend of about ten different fruits, oranges and apples among them.

Then, more of the mind-numbing time was spent. A while more of that, and someone declared – with no shortage of uncertainty, mortification and embarrassment – that they needed to use the bathroom. The collective response was that maybe the weird box-things lining one of the walls could be used as toilets.

When the person – who happened to be the red head with the once broken arm – went to investigate the boxes, she managed to discover that they actually _were_ supposed to be waste receptacles. It was learned that there was some mechanism which simply incinerated everything put in them after a certain interval of time, and thus a policy of respect was easily set up and the captives were free to use the bathroom if they so needed.

Never before had using the bathroom seemed like such a luxury.

Finally, the real kicker came, just when people were starting to feel tired again.

Mr. Seasick returned to the room right after Miles finished a soliloquy on why supermarkets were the third greatest invention mankind ever made, right behind public amenities and April Fool's Day. As was expected, everyone grew quiet and apprehensive.

Sam was not the only one to silently wonder at how predictable they'd been made within just forty-eight hours (approximately, as that had been the agreed upon time table, though it could just as easily have been fifty or sixty hours).

No one did anything obvious to provoke the mech but he still entered their latest home and walked up to the nearest person. He closed his hand around a gently struggling Connor and lifted him all the way up. Everyone stared as the mech addressed them in Robot. Mr. Seasick held his captive firmly and deliberately ran a fingertip over his head.

The alien stopped briefly and scanned the gathering of humans. Sam felt his heart pick up with the distinct impression that he was supposed to have comprehended every bit of the alien language.

Mr. Seasick whistled curtly. His red optics turned to the doorway.

Three drones, each with its own metal box, entered the room single file – the mech deposited Connor into one of the boxes as the drone passed him. The three blackish drones came some distance into the room before placing their containers onto the ground. Then they turned on the humans once again.

One drone went after those who had been the most injured, placing them all into its box. A second went after all remaining women, the third after the remaining men.

Sam felt actual, tangible worry set in for the first time. When the girl-snatcher came set on Mikaela, he made a valiant effort to pull her back. The mech easily separated them in the end.

"Sam! Sam – dammit, let me go!" she screamed.

"Mikaela!" Sam and Miles both shouted, one after the other, though Sam was cut short when he was grabbed. He saw Mikaela being placed into the girls' box, and Miles actually running to _follow_ the mech that held him, but once he was lowered into the box, he saw only metal and the ceiling. The other obvious couple that had been captured was also crying out to one another.

Miles was placed in shortly after.

Sam turned to his friend slowly. "Miles. Miles, what if we don't see her again?" There was no way it could have ended like that, right? Surely they'd all still be brought to the same place, not like some of those animal breeders that only sold one gender…

"We're gonna see her again, man. When we get to wherever they're taking us, we'll see her," Miles reassured. He sounded completely convinced of his words. It made Sam feel a little better, but not much.

The brownish-haired guy was resting his head against a corner. Sam felt horrible looking at him, knowing he was thinking the same thing about his partner.

"This is bullshit," the guy mumbled. "He said it'd take a few days to get anywhere. No way it's been more than two, no way…"

Jamie laughed once, humorlessly. The box was lifted up suddenly, but the teen was undeterred. "Don't count on it. No one knows how long that stuff had us out for." He was quiet a moment, then decided to add, "And it's not like he gave us a guarantee. What business does he have, telling us the truth?"

In that moment, the prospect of even having been lied to about just how horrible a life he had ahead of him made Sam want his mother. It was a strong emotion, although fleeting, and one he hadn't felt in a long time. He'd have given anything to just have her there, doubtlessly threatening to take her favorite baseball bat to one of the robots. Immediately after thinking that he felt disappointed in himself. He didn't want his mother there, or anyone else in his family. It'd be the same as wishing them misfortune. Sam wasn't selfish enough to do that even now.

"Fail. So… so fail," whispered Miles. Sam quirked an eyebrow at him. "But don't worry. We're going to be okay."

Sam took a moment, staring up out of the box at the moving ceiling. Then, "Thanks, Miles."

"Anytime," Miles smiled.

An air-tight door slid open with a gust from beyond their cubicle prison. Sam glanced around the perimeter of the top, trying to take in every detail he could of the sliver he could see of the drone carrying the box. It shifted slightly with every step.

Several more doors whooshed in opening so that Sam became accustomed to it quickly. He tried to direct every last bit of resentment at the sliver of a drone that he could see, but failed spectacularly.

"…Look," the brown-head breathed.

The box's unfortunate inhabitants all followed the man's reverent stare.

Before their eyes, the bland ceiling of the spacecraft's interior gave way to something else. It registered that they had exited the ship. The sky above was just as alien. Stretching forever was the white-dotted black of a nighttime planet, or moon, or whatever piece of solid ground the mechs had brought them to. While Sam was far from an astronomer of any sort, he saw the lack of recognizable constellations in the foreign expanse of space.

"It's a dome or something," Connor said with squinted eyes. He'd been sitting down, but he rose to his feet as he spoke. "Something's… there."

Sam didn't know what the guy was talking about. He glanced at Connor, and then back at the sky, his own eyes squinting and scrutinizing. He couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. Except, maybe…?

He thought he might have seen an unnatural glint in the sky, but he wasn't given enough time to fully consider it. The upper view of the box changed again to metal, though this time of a different shade.

A mech was talking somewhere beyond the box; no one could tell if it was Mr. Seasick or someone new. Noting that Miles was studying the new ceiling intently, Sam did the same. Unlike the ship, this metal had no bolts – it was made of smooth sheets with thin seams. It seemed less hardy…

Purple – blue? – and black abruptly moved into place over them. Sam recoiled fiercely, Miles taking a much more graceful step back. Brown-hair violently jumped, actually tripping into Connor and nearly making him fall down. Jamie simply stared in silence. The mech spoke to someone, and it seemed doubtful that it was one of the drones (considering they'd never heard a drone really speak, although that didn't necessarily discount it). Red optics were sharp on them, much the same color as Mr. Seasick's.

Then the mech was gone. They could still hear him talking, but no one could see him. When he finally grew quiet a few aggravating minutes later, there was a shuffling sound and the tell-tale noise of an air-locked door.

Nothing happened for a long while – too long for comfort. Steps could briefly be heard, and faint sounds of movement, but no mech-talk or mech. Sam narrowed his eyes in thought as he wondered precisely where Mikaela was at that moment.

If anyone had to guess, they'd estimate that it was fifteen minutes of worrying, sickening nothingness before the mech came back. It picked up the entirety of the container and walked off with them without the slightest exchange of sound. There was another door to whoosh open, and then the quality of the sound changed. A single glance around the box showed everyone straining their ears, trying to figure the difference out with the untried sense.

The mech spoke swiftly, out of nowhere, causing everyone to whip around to stare at him. It gave something of a nod, and then the box gave a lurch. Sam fell backwards into Miles when the mech placed the box down onto a hard surface. The blue – purple? – mech stepped out of sight for a bit.

What on Earth – or on wherever – was going on?

Suddenly, Sam seemed to notice that he hadn't been able to answer that question once in the past couple days, and still couldn't now. He had absolutely no idea what was going on, and he didn't like it one bit. Besides, had it been two days ago he'd been captured? Three? It seemed like it'd only been hours. Everything was still happening too quickly to process. The mechs didn't even have the decency to let them get used to anything before throwing them more chaos.

Sam didn't have very long to think about that one. The mech returned very quickly, reaching into the box with both hands. The first time, they closed around Connor. Connor was lifted up and out. The purple-blue mech was gone for a few seconds before returning with the same procedure. The second time, he took Brown-hair. The third, he went for Miles.

Miles did not put up a fight. Instead, he looked at Sam seriously – as seriously as Miles could pull off, that was – and Sam merely nodded as he was whisked out of sight.

The mech came back and took Jamie next, and claimed Sam as the last.

The moment he was lifted clear of the constraining box, Sam was quick to notice a mass of mesh that made up a large enclosure. Inside, there were dozens of humans sporting almost identical 'clothes.' The mech approached this structure and removed one of his hands from Sam. He opened a door and Sam was lowered into the cage. During the descent, Miles's blonde hair stuck out and Sam instantly knew where he would be headed.

When Sam was placed onto the ground he moved closer to Miles. The latter was busy scanning his surroundings. Sam only decided to look around after he'd clasped a hand on his best friend's shoulder to assure himself that he was actually there.

The enclosure was large, easily able to fit several mechs. Not including the back wall of dark metal, the rest of the walls were chain link – dark black in color, wires as thick as an arm but with the holes the size of a person's head. The back wall had a shade over it. A sheet of something or other extended from about a third of it, offering enough room for maybe five average-sized people to sit under. The rest of the back wall was dotted with the makeshift, high-tech toilets.

Parts of the floor were covered in blue fabric, but Sam couldn't guess as to how comfortable it would be from where he was.

The only inhabitants in his cage were men or boys, the teen noted, none of whom could have been more than a couple years younger than him. A sick moment of fright passed through him, wondering just where the hell Mikaela was, but a second glance at the innermost wall – the one to his left – revealed that there was, indeed, an adjacent cage. The structure wasn't one big enclosure like he'd initially thought, but two separate ones. While similar to his enclosure in many ways, the defining difference was that all of the inhabitants in the other one were girls of varying ages, among them…

"Mikaela!" Sam jumped away from Miles, running at the chain link.

The dark-haired girl in question spun about, looking stunned. Several strangers pivoted, intrigued by the call.

"Sam!" she called back, also racing to the chain link.

They met at the same section. Mikaela reached a hand through and Sam took it in his own, at a loss for words.

"I can't believe this. I knew it was going to happen, but I can't…" Mikaela rambled, looking upset and furious at the same instant.

Sam shook his head. "I know, I know. It's gonna be fine. We're fine, okay?"

Mikaela bent her head slightly and rested it against the chain, perhaps trying to fall through it.

"Don't look now," Miles's voice interrupted, causing Sam to turn sharply, "but our new captor finds your PDA very interesting."

"Huh?" Sam articulately responded. He then followed the direction of his best friend's gaze and saw that the indigo (purple? blue?) mech that had placed him into the giant cage was looking fixedly at him and Mikaela.

The investigation was short but intense. The mech retired after a moment more of scanning over both of the enclosures. He left the room seconds later, leaving only the humans.

Sam turned partially from Mikaela to give the newest quarters another once over. Mikaela seemed to get the gist and did the same, turning back to her own cage. They did not let the other's hand slip away from them.

"What's going on here?" Mikaela asked clearly.

In uneasy unison, everyone – male and female – looked at them. No one spoke.

Emboldened by the inquiry, Jamie repeated, "What gives?"

A man – maybe in his late twenties, with blue-gray eyes and reddish-brown hair – shook his head. "We always wonder when it's going to change. When someone's going to be brought in knowing what the hell's going on. Earth still hasn't learned about it?"

"What do you mean?" the shaky-voiced brunette asked, stepping up and pressing herself against the chains to get as close as possible to the knowledgeable man. "What doesn't Earth know?"

"That mech, he – he said something about captivity, about being sold," Sam recalled about Mr. Seasick's address to them. "What did he mean by that? Are we going to be slaves or something?"

"Slaves? No," Red-head laughed. "Not slaves. Pets."

"Pets?" repeated Brown-head incredulously.

"Pets," a woman agreed. The newcomers all snapped around accordingly to find her. She was middle age, nodding faintly. "We see dozens go. They catch new people to replace them, and they've been going younger and younger… You sell better when you're young, apparently."

Sam's mind went blank. Pets? Like… dog and cat type pets?

"More like hamsters, given the size difference," Red-head answered. Sam hadn't even realized he'd spoken. He would've bet money that he hadn't, but…

"Don't make trouble," the woman warned. A crowd of nods met her advice. The forty-some humans in total seemed to be in complete agreement. "They're not _too_ bad to us here – you'll get food, the toilets, clean rags to wear every once and a while… though it gets cold…" she trailed off, completely forgetting that she was supposed to be explaining something. The girl nearest her picked up instead, continuing, "They don't like us to make a lot of noise and if you cause the Caretaker any trouble, it doesn't end well for you, sometimes worse than others. Unless you're unlucky, you're sure to be better off with a mech than in here."

"Wait. So – so you all are _hoping _to… what... get purchased?" Connor managed.

"Definitely," another man answered.

Red-head glanced about almost conspiratorially. "The faster you start wishing for that, too, the better off you'll be."

Sam could only shake his head to express his idea of the situation. One of the newcomers started crying, and she dissolved into hiccupping and sobbing moments later. A couple of the originally caged women came over to attempt – unsuccessfully – to console her. Several simply sat down and shut up, wallowing instead in the recesses of their minds. The rest continued asking questions and getting answers, but Sam couldn't bring himself to keep listening just yet.

"We're going to get separated," Mikaela realized under her breath. Sam turned back to her and Miles stepped closer. "I don't know when, I don't know exactly how, but we are going to get separated."

Miles cast his eyes to the floor. "Maybe we just shouldn't think about that too much." He glanced hesitantly up at his friends to see if they agreed.

"Sounds like a good idea to me," confirmed Mikaela.

Not knowing what else to say, Sam just nodded.

The teen's eye strayed to the side. He stared dazedly at the crisscrossing metal wires at the front of the cell. Even outside of them, everything was coldly metallic and gray. Sam closed his eyes.

He could feel Mikaela's hand in his, could sense his best friend next to him – but he could feel the chilling smoothness of the mesh he held just as potently. Was there a difference? Life here, behind bars, or with some mech owner that thought he had the same level of feelings and thoughts as a hamster?

Probably not, save for the fact that Mikaela and Miles were both there in the former, not so much in the latter.

Sam blinked around at his friends and decided, no. Life behind bars was fine so long as he had those two with him. Life alone with a mech – no matter how attentive an owner – would definitely break him.

* * *

Bumblebee was normally a pretty happy mech. Even when he wasn't, the cheery yellow parts of his armor tended to give that impression. However, the moment he walked into his apartment, Beachcomber could tell that his roommate wasn't quite so chipper.

"_**Bumblebee? What's wrong?**_" the mech asked, setting aside his datapad. The ex-scout shrugged partially. "_**I thought you just went to go see Ironhide at the Ark. What happened?**_"

The smaller mech came fully into the apartment's main room. "_**It's nothing in particular. I just realized, after seeing Ironhide and Ratchet, that it's actually pretty lonely here.**_"

Beachcomber thought about that one.

It was true enough, in the end. Ever since the disappearance of Megatron and the ensuing cease-fire and peace treaties, both Autobot and Decepticon forces had been fairly split. The army ranks had broken down to some extent, and the strange cross-class and cross-specialization friendships that had formed during times of war had faced some stress.

Optimus, for example, had once again taken up the duties an active Prime _should_ see to – one of the leading bodies for regulation and 'government' proceedings, link between mechs and the Matrix, and – although the absence of the artifact made it impossible – communicator with the AllSpark. Accordingly, he spent most of his time on Cybertron, attempting to rebuild it.

Some of Beachcomber's old friends weren't stationed anywhere near the colony he was at, and some that were found visiting hard. Prowl, for example, still played with legalities and tactical roles for non-battle situations. He spent most of his time overseeing this colony, and was often swamped with work. Ironhide and Ratchet were the only two to 'permanently' inhabit the now-stationary Ark. As their planet was being rebuilt, most mechs lived elsewhere – thus, as a medic, Ratchet stayed where he was most needed. Ironhide simply didn't want to leave his perfectly organized supply of weaponry. While they were located in this colony, they rarely left the ship.

Instead, the other two roommates that shared Beachcomber and Bumblebee's apartment complex (albeit on the other side of the building) were ex-Decepticons.

Legally, no one was allowed to antagonize, but the faction division wouldn't be forgotten any time soon.

So, it _was_ pretty lonely, when one took into account that access to friends and comrades with whom one had hundreds of vorns of history was eluding them.

"_**I know. But at least we still see them on occasion,**_" Beachcomber attempted to soothe.

"_**I know that, but… I was just thinking. Most of the time, it's just me here – and I didn't realize how much I missed all the other 'Bots until now.**_"

That, too, held merit. Beachcomber spent most of his time well away from the apartment, thus leaving the young mech alone more often than not.

In a moment of spontaneity, the pacifist suggested, "_**Maybe you should get a pet, then.**_"

The words hung briefly in the air. Bumblebee blinked. "_**A… pet?**_"

"_**Yeah,**_" Beachcomber said honestly. The moment he'd said it, he'd started to consider it. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he thought Bee should get one. "_**A pet. Those organics that the energy expeditions revealed are extremely popular right now – humans. You know, the minibot sized bipedal aliens?**_" Bee nodded in recognition; there wasn't a spark that didn't know of the creatures. Their planet had provided most of the resources to fuel survival and expansion. "_**The trappers are always catching them and bringing them in. I'm sure they're not treated especially well,**_" he said as a regretful aside, "_**so if you purchased one, it would also count as an act of charity. I'd be willing to pitch in to provide funds, too.**_"

Bumblebee tilted his head to one side in consideration. "_**So… you're suggesting that I go buy a human, because it'd be good for the human, and it would also keep me company?**_"

Beachcomber smiled. "_**It would be the perfect solution, I think. From what I've read, humans can make really good pets. And, all the complexities of their care are pretty much covered by the shops themselves. They provide the dietary requirements and accessories – all the owners need to do is purchase the items and then the humans tend to take care of themselves, or so I've heard. Well… unless the humans are particularly young.**_"

… Could that be? Would getting a human pet be just the solution he was looking for? 'Comber was right; it'd be nice if he could find something to keep him company and also be doing a good deed at the same time. If taking home a human could accomplish both, then why not?

"_**I just might,**_" said Bee thoughtfully, his traces of despair vanishing. "_**I really just might. My own pet…**_"

If he was going to be bringing home a new resident, he had some research and preparations to attend to.

* * *

**A.N.s**

Nods to my first experience with TF are in this chapter. :D If you point them out, you win a virtual cookie in a flavor of your choosing – though might I suggest the overcooked egg/broccoli/cheese flavored one? You know you want to try it.

Preemptively, this is NOT a Bumblebee/Beachcomber fic. There is no pairing for Bumblebee in this.


	3. Taking Home the Prize

**Title: **Property Of

**Rating: **T

**Summary:** During Cybertronian 'peace,' ex-Cons hide the sentience of and sell humans as pets to secure Earth. Sam and Mikaela might just be the first to grasp the reality of the situation alongside their new owner.

**Chapter:** Taking Home the Prize

Finally, things can start to get a little more 'fun.' Even better, it didn't take two months for an update this time!

But really? No one wanted a cyber cookie/recognized the references to my introduction to Transformers? I am saddened. If no one points them out by the next update (which I have no idea when I'll be able to finish, so, heads up on the chance of a lengthy wait on that one), I shall surely cry.

* * *

If Miles had to take a guess, he would have said it had been about half a week since he'd first been locked into the giant cage. Sam would've been in agreement, Mikaela the same, save that she thought it had been at least half a day longer than either of her friends did. Ultimately, it didn't matter. Any amount of time spent in the store was too much time spent, and they especially didn't want to imagine exactly how much longer they would be staying.

The first few days had been rough. The indigo mech, or The Caretaker as he'd come to be known as, was something of an enigma.

Normally the mech had nothing to do with them, so the name – or was it technically a title? – seemed rather misplaced. He spent much of his time managing what had to be the shop. When he did enter their room, it was to feed them or gather items and leave. Even then he tended not to pay the humans any heed. Other times, he'd get angry at something they were doing, which no one could ever discern – was he upset for the talking, the seating arrangements, their presence in general? And other times still, he'd speak briefly but quietly to them through the cage, as if he actually cared about them. At the very least, Sam might label him as moody.

That first day, the trio sat down right at the junction of the cages. The twenty-some women and twenty-some men that already inhabited the enclosures eventually warmed up to the newcomers. It was like they suddenly remembered that there were still humans living freely on Earth that weren't used to this treatment. There had been an exchange of updates that lasted a long time. Some of the individuals in these cages, Sam had learned, had been there for months and months.

The originals were eager to share their theory that there were multiple pet stores, scattered across the stars and possibly scattered even on this very rock, wherever that happened to be.

"And not just pet stores," Red-head had whispered, "but breeding facilities. You have dog breeders, right? Well, we've seen couples go and had little kids in here – I mean little. This whole business has been going on since before we knew the aliens were on Earth, I promise you that."

"But it's not like they can just make you sleep with someone," Not-so-crazy-anymore Girl had pointed out. "We're not as simple as those animals."

"I never said how well it was going for them. Just that I know they have to be trying," Red-head had curtly responded.

It became apparent in the first few days that what the originals actually, tangibly knew was not much at all. Ultimately, that was not surprising. They had, after all, been through the same process and seen most of the same things. Not counting the extra time spent behind bars, they were in the same position as the newcomers.

For the sake of sanity, it was a lot easier to pretend that the originals knew what they were talking about inside and out.

There was a consistent – if not boring – schedule within the shop, or so it was inferred. Given that there was still no way to accurately keep track of time, the humans had to assume that the repetitive procedures were carried out on a strict time basis.

For about nine hours or so, lights were turned off to imitate night. When The Caretaker flicked off the switch, the world became near-black. Most people found places to sleep on or under the fabric lining the floor. The lady had been partially right; it seemed to get colder once the lights were out, but it was never entirely uncomfortable.

Mikaela, Miles, and Sam slept near each other. From the moment they'd arrived, they claimed their section of the chain link. In a way, Sam thought they were more isolated with all these people around them than they'd been when they had numbered only eleven.

After those nine-or-so hours, The Caretaker returned and the lights went back on. Boxes of the same synthesized foods were immediately provided. The first feeding led to the discovery of water. There was a constant supply of it, available by pressing at a ridiculously bright yellow button in the wall underneath the metal shelters.

Sam had wondered how he had overlooked such a bright button. All it took was the headache of thirst to make him get over his reservations about drinking from the same tube – hamster water bottles, anyone? – as all the other strangers.

Most of the day was boring beyond that. When The Caretaker walked about the room, gathering items and glancing at them, everyone tended to grow silent. Every time he caught Brown and Brunette or Sam and Mikaela interacting, he would stop and stare for a moment.

"We got ourselves an A-class voyeur. Technically a pedophile, too. We're still minors. What's he – a thousand?" Miles joked each time the routine was carried out. It got old quickly.

An estimated twelve hours after the morning feeding, a second feeding was administered. The newcomers all learned very quickly to save food from the first meal to snack on during the day until the second batch was brought. Between that feeding and lights out, they estimated another ten or so hours. Either way, everyone was certain that the schedule did not follow a twenty-four hour guideline.

By the end of the fourth day, absolutely nothing else had occurred.

Sam had never been one of those people who remembered their dreams. He knew he had them, and every once in a while recalled what they'd been about, but never consistently. In the cage, he remembered all of them. Most were reliving the loss of his family, imagining the loss of his friends, or some other unpleasant thing.

He explained the oddity to Miles and Mikaela after the third day. Miles told him it sounded like he'd had a million dreams in a few days, so he should stop exaggerating. Sam shrugged and explained that, just like he knew they must be, he was waking up in the middle of the lights-off time, and was therefore having multiple dreams in one night that he could remember. Mikaela reassured him that the last couple dreams she had had in the store weren't exactly pleasant, either.

Miles sheepishly admitted that he could only remember one dream since arriving. It hadn't been about losing loved ones or giant evil robots at all. It had been about pizza and wings.

"Not just pizza and wings, though. Armies of food people. People were made of pizza, and some people were made of spaghetti, and some were made of ice cream, and then there was the mighty Chicken Wing Clan and the Guacamole Tribes, and they had the most epic war in the history of all wars. But in reality, it was just a big food fight. Get it? Get it?" Miles semi-enthusiastically detailed. Sam laughed. Mikaela tried hard not to. "Anyway, it was the mashed potato people that won because you just couldn't beat them. They'd get hit and just split into a bunch of smaller globs of potatoes."

Sam's stomach gave a rumble at that.

"I'd give my left hand for a full turkey dinner," announced Sam proudly.

Red-head overheard, like always (which the trio was finding more irritating than not), and advised, "Just you wait. You haven't even started to miss real food yet."

The three friends pointedly made an effort to talk in hushed voices after the millionth time that Red-head interjected.

It was the morning of the fifth day that the first mech came in.

As was now custom, Miles and Sam were sitting next to each other, Mikaela facing them from the other side of the 'fence.' They were discussing how they each suspected the alien society functioned when The Caretaker entered the door that came from the store front. He was busily talking. A moment later, a second mech followed after him.

This mech was taller than The Caretaker, but not by a lot. He was, for the most part, brown, with white and green markings and blackish-gray wiring underneath his armor plating.

Instead of the shockingly pure red optics all previous mechs had, this mech sported a strange orange-red color. Sam stared at those optics while the two mechs continued to converse in their beepy, screechy language.

All the humans went silent.

The mech gestured to the cage with the women in it, and The Caretaker gave a quick nod of his head – a diagonal sort of nod that seemed to be the equivalent of the regular gesture in humans. The unfamiliar mech scanned the girls intensely. Mikaela refused to look at him anywhere other than his feet, and kept staring at the floor.

He made a vague gesture at the enclosure. The Caretaker turned and shuffled through a cabinet. The indigo mech procured two metal tablets and handed them to the expectant multi-colored mech without pause. After receiving the tablets, the customer looked them over. Sam couldn't see what exactly the tablets contained from where he sat.

The mech studied the pads slowly, one in each hand. He frequently glanced between them. He took a couple minutes and then handed one of the tablets back. Shaking the remaining tablet in his hand, the mech gave the same 'awkward' nod.

The Caretaker approached the enclosure. He absentmindedly typed a code into the keypad on the wall and then reached for the handle. The door to the cage swung open easily for him, soundlessly. When The Caretaker stepped inside, he garnered the unwavering attention of everyone else.

In two brisk steps he was before the lady who had shut down at the mention of cold. She looked quite secretively thrilled when The Caretaker crouched and shuffled her into his hands. Once he had her, he stood and exited the cage, closing the door calmly behind him.

The mostly brown mech nodded again at them. They spoke a few moments more and then The Caretaker led the customer back to the shop front. The last thing people saw of Cold Lady was a relieved sort of smile on her face.

Mikaela exhaled a breath she hadn't fully meant to hold in the following silence.

"If I ever get like that," Miles said, uncharacteristically tense, "smack me, will you? Smiling to be carried off to who knows where…"

Sam voiced neither part of his mixed thoughts. Like Miles, he couldn't understand why someone would be so thrilled to be destined to the life of a domesticated animal. Yet, at the same time, he felt happy for the lady. If she wanted it, then good for her. If the pets really did have it better than the store humans, then he shouldn't be so upset by her reaction.

For the rest of the day, all anyone could talk about was the purchase. Would she be happier? Did the pets get better food? What sort of schedules did a mech's household run on? What roles did human pets play?

While Mikaela scoffed at the idea, the general consensus was that as long as you behaved yourself and acted the part – living the status quo and not trying to start some human rebellion like in Planet of the Apes – you'd be far better off with an average mech than with The Caretaker. Sam understood the logic in that. Miles, too, concurred.

Nothing exciting occurred the following day. In retrospect, it was something of a let down. Sam had been upset that the aliens shuffled them around quickly from place to place. Now he was upset that they could so whimsically shuffle about their captives' moods. Action one day, nothing the next; blankness for a few days, then enough tension to make you go mad. It was hardly humane.

… or… robane? Robotane?

"Do robots even _have_ an equivalent of being humane?" Sam wondered aloud. Miles told him that he didn't think so. Mikaela maintained it would defeat the purpose of them being robots to begin with.

Sam, however, disagreed. "You have humans who aren't very humane. People can be humane or inhumane, so robots have to have something, right? Might be different standards, but they gotta have something," he argued.

"Maybe," Mikaela admitted with a comprehending look. "Why don't you ask The Caretaker next time he comes around?" she suggested with a smirk.

Sensing an opportunity to create harmless action, Sam told her, "Don't think I won't."

At that day's second feeding, Miles beat Sam to the punch. The blonde shamelessly called the question up to the indigo mech.

The Caretaker stared at him for a long moment, probably impressed by the audacity of the creature. After Miles repeated the question a second and third time, The Caretaker simply pointed at the food where most of the other men and boys were taking their share. The blonde continued to stare at him. With a tired whir-click, The Caretaker exited the cage and slid the box of edibles to the girls and left the room, shaking his head at Miles as he left.

Miles shrugged. "I guess they call it 'human foodstuffs.' It's nothing close to 'humane,' but you can't blame them. They're robots."

Sam applauded his friend's efforts. They said their momentary goodbyes to Mikaela and went to claim their food. When they reconvened, they opened discussion about the likelihood of getting an owner who treated them like Mrs. Witwicky treated Mojo.

"I'll play pet, don't get me wrong," Sam admitted, "but the moment someone tries to stick 'bling' on me, I'm out of there."

The next day – about six cycles into their stay – their clothes were exchanged. The Caretaker made an unnecessary procedure out of approaching every 'new' human and demonstrating the beginning of the changing process. He spent less time with the originals, although it was obvious that they had once been put through the same regimen.

The new baggy garments were more green than they were gray, which made Sam wonder if the previous grayed color had been natural, or had gotten that way due to wear or dirt.

All he could think was 'ew.'

It was later that same day that a white and gray mech – this one significantly larger and broader than The Caretaker – was led into the holding area.

This mech was not so quick to single out a particular gender. Its red eyes, gleaming brightly, swept back and forth between the cages. He didn't keep his distance, either. The mech braced his hands against the enclosure, fingers pressing at the gaps between the wires. Neither mech was quiet for very long, constantly conversing and likely going over everything the white mech could possibly want to know.

A nod from the strange mech had The Caretaker presenting him with several metallic tablets. As with the brownish mech a couple cycles prior, the white mech looked each of these over. He turned around and bent over the counter to splay the tablets out. Eventually he slid each one back to The Caretaker save for two, making comments about every single one. The two mechs spoke vibrantly about the two remaining tablets. The humans exchanged glances, most hopeful, some nervous.

Sam wasn't certain how long these exchanges normally took. For some reason, he felt that this one was taking an eternity. Had it been five minutes? At least. Probably at least ten, maybe even more by now.

At long last, White gave a brisk, jagged nod. He turned only his head to the cages, bright red targeting only one person.

Mikaela felt her stomach twist. Sam's insides gave a disgusting flutter. Miles's breathing stilled in his throat.

The white mech's optics were frightfully unwavering as they centered directly on Miles, silently daring him to protest.

The Caretaker went to enter the password on the keypad.

"Oh hell," Miles let out in a ragged tone.

Mikaela cursed. She instantly gripped the chain link and hit her forehead against it. She reached a hand through, which Miles took briefly and squeezed in camaraderie.

Sam shook his head. Not this soon. There were people who had spent months here. They were only here for a week! Over his dead body! But even as he thought that, The Caretaker was turning to approach their cage.

"Miles," Sam said low. His best friend looked at him, a hint of water in his eyes. Sam felt the same welling up in his own, and shook his head a bit. He saw The Caretaker reaching for the cage door on the fringe of his vision. Sam stepped forward, arms out to the side, wrapping them around his friend of some eleven years and hugging him tightly, three-tap man-hugs be damned. Miles did the same.

"It'll be okay," Miles reassured. Some of the confidence was missing since the last time he'd said it. "We're bound to cross paths again, right?"

"Right," Sam vehemently agreed. "Right." He had never realized that a voice could sound surreal.

They continued to hug, and Miles sought out Mikaela's arm again and gave it another squeeze. The Caretaker was inside the cage, moving up to them.

Miles nodded, smiling thinly. "You bet. Just think of pizza, and I'll know you're thinking of me."

The indigo mech bent down, clicking disapprovingly at the three-part farewell. He pushed Mikaela's arm away, making her withdraw it completely. Sam lingered even as The Caretaker worked his fingers between them, taking Miles in hand. Sam and Miles clasped hands tightly as the mech stood, holding on until they couldn't anymore.

"Guess I'll catch you guys later," Miles informed as he was carried from the enclosure and the door shut behind him.

Sam gave a not-so-confident nod, muttering a "see ya" that was probably too low for Miles to hear. Mikaela waved weakly, using her other hand to wipe a quiet tear from her face.

In only seconds more, the mechs were gone, and Miles with them.

Sam stared at the door blankly. He didn't know for how long. He had a feeling that he was being watched, as surely their display wasn't exactly common, but Sam just couldn't get himself to care.

"Hey, man – Sam," someone said; he thought it was Jamie.

"Sam…" Mikaela mumbled, whether to herself or to Sam the teen didn't know.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and paced back and forth a couple steps several times. Pacing was stupid, though. He stopped. Shouldn't he be crying? He should have been crying when he'd lost his family, too, but that same sense of disconnect was taking hold of him. It was hard to form a single emotion other than disbelief long enough and strong enough to emotionally respond. Instead, he stared at the ground. He backed up to the chain link and then let his legs go until he fell to the floor, his back to Mikaela.

"He was right there. Right _there_," Sam pointed, talking to both himself and his girlfriend.

"I know," said Mikaela.

Red-head cleared his throat. "I know you probably don't see it this way, but your friend's probably better off now. Sure, it'd be nice if you were together, but he'll get treated better now. You should be happy for him."

Sam wanted to yell at the guy. He felt a very strange anger boiling inside of him, a sharp contrast to the absolute emptiness he had felt seconds prior, and Sam just wanted to explain how ignorant and insensitive he was – about how he knew nothing and he had no idea what it was like to have just been separated from your family, and then your best friend, and then you were destined to be cut off from your girlfriend, one after the other, no breaks.

But Sam suddenly found that he couldn't. Partially, it was because he didn't know what Red-head had or hadn't gone through. Partially, he was just tired of emotions. Worst of all, he knew Red-head was probably right. The mech had certainly taken long enough to pick someone. Surely that meant he cared about his would-be pet.

_Just be safe, Miles. I'll see you again, I know it. We all have to._

"Too much," he sighed, at last shifting against the wires. Mikaela was looking at him. He reached his hand through and they intertwined their fingers. They had to believe that this would end well enough.

What else did they have but that?

* * *

It was going on an orn since Beachcomber had first placed the idea of getting a pet into his processors. Due in part to his history as a scout, Bumblebee made sure to access every bit of information he could on humans short of direct observation. As far as he could see, he had addressed every precursor that needed to be addressed. He could head out to the nearest trading depot and buy a pet at any time now.

He was fairly certain that he wanted a male, for one. Young would be better, but not too young. 'Comber had been right about the younglings. Younglings required much more care and attention and, while easier to train, tended to be a lot more skittish. As for the sparklings… The experts claimed that the perfect pet could be trained by fostering one of them from such a young and impressionable age, but the amount of care that that would require was beyond what Bumblebee thought he could manage. Hopefully, he'd be able to find a male that was already independent and was well-tempered.

He'd already bought his future pet its necessities: a dispenser for water (which served a purpose that was not unlike energon save for the fact that humans needed a lot more of it and it naturally contained little required nutrition unless tampered with), a waste receptacle which store humans had already been trained to use, lengths of new cleaning fabrics for the human to use as bedding and for warmth, and a supply of food. Regarding the last on that list, Bumblebee had read a lot about the dietary requirements of a human. While the little aliens apparently did well with the special mixtures the Cybertronians made for them, the traders also sold natural foods that came in direct shipments from their native planet. Bee was already dedicated to the idea of buying those foods for his pet as treats.

Bumblebee actually felt giddy about being able to go out and select his new companion. He'd done his research and made the preparations, and he saw no reason why his human shouldn't be completely happy with him.

In the name of Primus, he would be the best pet owner ever!

"'_**Comber, I'm going out to get the human,**_" announced Bumblebee from the main living quarters of the shared apartment. Beachcomber stuck his head out of his room.

"_**I should be here when you get back,**_" he confirmed. A smile in his optics, he said definitively, "_**Make sure you get the one you feel the greatest connection with and not just the first one you see.**_"

Bee gave a beep in confirmation.

The nearest store that dealt in the human trade was Dropkick's. If he was lucky, it'd have everything he needed…

* * *

Miles had been gone for four store cycles. Sam managed to convince himself that while it was okay to miss him, Miles was probably enjoying a much cozier stay somewhere else. Beyond that, Mikaela was excellent in convincing him that they would, indeed, see each other again. She was certain that they were meant to do that. Nothing – not even alien robots – could keep them separated from each other forever.

Three more people had been taken during that time. Jamie was claimed by some red and green mech with oddly colored – blue – optics. Later on, a pair of mechs came in at the same time, both with reddish-orange optics. One was mostly silver, the other black and gray. The former took one of the original girls, mid-twenties, the latter one of the original men, a mid-teen.

It hadn't even been two weeks, and already Sam and Mikaela had seen five people go. It prompted Sam to ask Red-head one day,

"How often are new people brought in?"

Red-head shrugged. "Depends on business, sort of… I've been here a good few months by now. I'd say… every few weeks, about ten new people are brought in? There have been four shipments that I can remember, including yours." Red-head stared off at the door to the shop front. "Sometimes there are stragglers. We've had a few people come in and out that say they were at other stores or something, and those little kids I told you about. I don't know all the logistics of it, though."

Sam and Mikaela both gently nodded in understanding.

"There was a girl once," another man said, "about a month before you got here. She came in by herself. She'd been living with a mech for a while, but for whatever reason he couldn't keep her anymore. Someone bought her 'bout a week before you showed up."

"…You can get returned?" Brunette asked. She and her partner had been talking quietly to one another up to that point.

The originals nodded. "Apparently so. She's the one that confirmed it was much better off with a mech. I suppose they're all different, like the way you can have cat ladies and people who hate animals, but she was practically crying in relief when someone came and picked her up."

Sam pulled out some of the food he'd saved from the morning feeding. The bread stuff had seemed a little stale that day, but he wasn't about to send it back to the chef.

Connor, who was walking laps around the enclosure, laughed. "I can't believe I'm saying this," he preempted, "but I don't think I'd mind it half as much as I thought I would a week ago. You know?"

Mikaela laughed in disbelief. Obviously, she didn't 'know.' Sam, on the other hand, didn't know what to think. He definitely didn't want to stay here for the rest of forever. Better to have a mech that was willing to spend whatever their currency was on you and take you into their home than waste away in a cage until you got to the point where you'd cry happily when someone told you that you were about to become a pet, right? But wait…?

"Do the mechs keep you in cages?"

Connor sat down near the water button. Red-head shrugged. "Don't know. Hers didn't, at least. I'm sure some do."

Well, then. Screw most of that reasoning. He could never be comfortable being caged forever. Still, there was something about the shred of hope that an owner implied that was appealing to Sam…

Mikaela rested her head in a hand and blinked. She took her time looking around the room. Sam couldn't fathom what she was thinking about. He would have asked her, but she looked very deep in thought, and he didn't want to bother her.

The sound of The Caretaker talking was distinguishable from beyond the door. Everyone looked to the entrance in anticipation of either an irritable caretaker (he only spoke to himself when he was irate) or another mech customer.

The door opened and the indigo mech stepped in. He was not alone. This time, he was followed by a mech that was largely yellow, with silvery chrome making up his internals. For only the second time, Sam saw an odd blue color instead of some variation of red as the mech's optics.

Newbie mech was taller than The Caretaker by a couple feet. At this point, every mech had been taller than The Caretaker. It was strangely funny to realize that the indigo mech was _short_.

This yellow mech stepped calmly up to the male enclosure. He looked over it steadily, front to back. Part of the way through another scan, he looked over at the girls. That inspection was quite short, and his focus returned speedily to the boys.

Though Sam had made a point of looking at the floor, he suddenly felt a shiver run down his spine. He hesitantly raised his eyes. Just as his tingling skin had suggested, the yellow mech was regarding him with a slightly tilted head, optics dead on. Sam met the stare directly, with no idea when he'd grown that daring (or stupid – he couldn't tell which was more accurate). The mech tilted his head a fraction in the other direction. The movement finally managed to snap Sam out of his stupor. He diverted his gaze and silently prayed to whichever deity would listen that he hadn't just screwed things up even more.

Just a moment passed before a metallic voice – softer than what he had grown used to, so it had to belong to the yellow mech – rose up. Now Sam dared to look up again. The Caretaker was coming over and talking with the yellow robot. Both kept looking at him periodically.

Sam glanced anxiously over at Mikaela. They had a whole conversation with their eyes, expressing sympathy and fears and condolences all at once. Just as they'd done when Miles was taken, they reached through the bars and took hold of their partner's arm.

When Sam looked back to the aliens, he saw that the yellow one was glancing between Mikaela and him with great interest. He had definitely seen and taken note of the interaction. His head was again tilted, and, deep beneath his reservations and concerns, Sam was reminded of a child staring through a glass window at a collection of puppies.

The pair of mechs talked some more. The customer mech, however, now had his attention split between Sam and Mikaela both. It would've been stupid to say the mech wasn't more focused on Sam, but there was palpable interest in Mikaela.

Then, The Caretaker nodded, and he gave the new mech entrance to Sam's enclosure. That itself was a first for Sam; all of the other mechs had scrutinized those tablets that obviously contained information about humans on them, and none of the other mechs had entered the cages to get humans by themselves. Sam didn't even consider moving for escape as the yellow robot approached him at a steady, almost cautious pace and picked him up. Sam might have imagined that the gentle noise the thing was making at him was crooning.

He was slid gently away from Mikaela so that he had to let go of her. Sam went limp and allowed the mech to shuffle him into his other hand. The mech stood up then.

Sam felt a happy splash of incredulity wash over him. Almost simultaneously, The Caretaker entered the other enclosure and plucked Mikaela off of the ground. The newcomer mech watched as the girl was settled in her handler's possession. Mikaela looked straight across at Sam. She looked relieved enough to either cry or laugh – Sam didn't know which.

The Caretaker exchanged a few more seconds of dialogue with the yellow robot before both removed themselves from the cages, humans held comfortably in their grasps.

An irrepressible yet sick burst of pride came from Sam's realization that the mech had found him to be the most desirable specimen of his peers. Similar 'happiness' came from knowing Mikaela was coming with him to… wherever they were going.

"Good luck, kid," a voice called so quietly that Sam barely heard it. When Sam glanced around at the enclosure, Red-head was looking up at him with optimistic reassurance.

Sam supposed he couldn't be upset about it. Upset about being an alien's pet, yes. Upset about possibly not seeing Miles ever again, yes. But this mech didn't seem half bad so far, and Mikaela was even coming with him. Miles hadn't had that luxury, but he did. From the moment they'd been tagged on Earth, they were apparently bound to end up as someone's pet… Considering that it could have turned out a lot worse, Sam knew he had nothing to complain about.

He hoped to God that this wasn't a pet abuser.

* * *

Bumblebee knew from the instant that he stepped into Dropkick's shop that he was definitely going to be freeing a human from this stupid place.

It wasn't that the shop was particularly unbecoming or rundown, but there was something dark about it – definitely not enough lights. Bee stepped into the main of the store after studying the literally dark exterior for a few moments.

Dropkick was lazily reading a datapad, seated behind a counter that had lines of cabinets and shelves behind it. At the dull beep of the front door, the ex-Decepticon looked up. Red optics and blue optics met tightly. Even now, Bumblebee still felt awkward meeting some of the once-opposing faction's gazes.

"_**Can I help you?**_" asked the purple-blue shop owner. As he spoke, he opened a drawer behind the counter and placed his datapad in it. The politeness of his voice was surprising, even though Bee knew it was probably just a very well-rehearsed formality.

Bumblebee gave a nod. "_**I have everything needed to take care of a human, but no human. Do you have a selection that I can choose from?**_"

The mech gave Bumblebee a very quick, very respectable scan. Dropkick beeped in confirmation. "_**Through there,**_" said the purplish mech, gesturing at the door on the wall to his right. "_**We keep those most ready for purchase in that room, separated by gender. Is it a male or female that you were hoping to acquire?**_"

Bumblebee shrugged. "_**I think I'd prefer a male,**_" he thought out loud. Not that a female would be bad to own, he supposed. They had a few more special requirements, but that wasn't why he preferred to have a male. Actually, the more he thought about it, the more Bumblebee had to accept that he simply didn't know why he wanted a male.

"_**There are plenty of males to choose from; I'm certain you'll find a pet to your liking.**__"_

Dropkick stood and walked over to the door, gesturing for Bumblebee to follow. When Bee did, he was led into a somewhat spacious holding room. Bumblebee's attention was immediately drawn to the two main cell-looking structures – cages – on one side of the wall. The bars were very close together (the creatures inside were smaller than minibots, so it was understandable), and almost made the room look cluttered.

"_**And here**__,_" the mech said rather unnecessarily, "_**we have the humans. The males are to the right, the females to the left. I also have a list of other humans being held at various outlets that can be shipped here upon request.**_"

Bee approached the closest grouping of humans, the males, and looked them over while Dropkick spoke. Several were quick to reposition themselves so that they were either better hidden from him or looked away. A pang of sympathy rocked the Autobot-at-spark. He continued to look about at them. Bee glanced curiously at the collection of females, intrigued by their generally longer cranial hair and wondering what it signified.

His processor seemed to signal to him that something was amiss. Bumblebee looked back over at the males. Magnetically, his optics fell on a single male that rested near the separating wall. A female sat close to him on the other side.

Compared to the rest, this one seemed to be of average build. The hair atop his head was brown in color, his organic eyes similarly shaded. The human regarded him directly, and something stirred in the mech as he, too, regarded the organic. Odd. Bee unintentionally cocked his head in consideration. The human sharply withdrew his inspection at the movement. He cast his attention instead to a single point where Bumblebee was sure nothing of interest was taking place.

Bumblebee stared, and then he looked up at Dropkick. His optics clicked. "_**I want that one, there,**_" he stated, gesturing to the male that had looked at him. As the indigo mech answered, Bumblebee noticed his desired human going through some sort of exchange with another human – the female in the cage opposite him. Though neither made any vocal indication of acknowledgement, they were very intent on each other, even reaching for one another through the bars.

Could it be they were a pair? Bumblebee blinked at the two of them, focusing his optics. They definitely seemed attached to one another.

"_**If you're certain you found an aesthetically acceptable human, would you like me to fetch his records for examination?**_" Dropkick was continuing.

"_**I don't think that'll affect my decision. I have a question, though.**_" The ex-scout glanced between male and female. He studied her carefully, reviewing her much darker hair and darker skin tone. "_**Do the two genders tend to coexist peacefully, without complications?**__" _Bumblebee noticed that the soon-to-be-his male human was looking at him again.

Dropkick looked thoughtful for a moment. "_**Yes, they live peaceably; the reason we separate them is to avoid unwanted reproduction, not unwanted violence. Are you considering a double purchase?**_"

"_**Yes,**_" said Bumblebee, a little surprised and excited by his spontaneity. "_**He seems to have some sort of connection to that femme. I wouldn't want their separation to traumatize him, if there's even the slightest chance of it. Have you noticed whether or not they have any sort of relationship with one another?**_"

The indigo mech gave a definite 'yes.' "_**They interact a fair amount through the dividing bars. They were brought in at the same time, by the same trapper – them and another male who's been purchased already. They've been separated physically this entire time, but they might even be a breeding pair for all I know, to be completely honest.**_" In reality, Dropkick had briefly considered selling the pair to one of the breeding facilities. Given the reluctance of most humans to mate in captivity, any natural couplings were well-paid for. The mech turned serious. "_**Do you plan on breeding them? Or would you prefer that they didn't reproduce? If the latter, I'd probably suggest selecting a second male, if any at all.**_"

Bumblebee considered the organics again. There was no question that he wanted the young male as his own, and he was not about to force any more trauma than had likely happened during his capture on the unfortunate human. "_**No, I wouldn't try to actively breed them or anything like that… but I wouldn't be upset if they did, I suppose. I've heard rumors that they aren't the best breeders anyway.**_" Bumblebee nodded, to reassure the pet-keeper and himself. "_**I'll take the pair of them, please.**_"

"_**Very well. Would you like to fetch one as I fetch the other, or should I fetch them both for you?**_"

"_**Um… I'll grab the male, I guess,**_" Bee shrugged again. A part of him skipped at the random bit of joy that overcame him when it finally sank in that he was going to be bringing _two_ living organisms back to his quarters with him as companions! A male and a female both – the perfect set. Beachcomber was right to have suggested he acquire a human. Dropkick entered the code to the cage and Bumblebee eased himself into it. Calmly, so as not to frighten his intended new pet or any other humans, Bumblebee approached the male. It simply watched him docilely, even as he scooped it up into cupped hands and cradled him near his chassis. "_**Don't worry about your femme, she'll be coming with us,**_" he comforted.

Bumblebee praised the thing for his tranquility and he watched as the indigo mech in the other cage lifted the female from the ground and situated her in his hands as well.

"_**This leaves the paperwork and tagging. If you'll follow me…**_" The mech exited the enclosure, and Bumblebee did the same, ignoring the doors that closed and locked automatically behind him. He pet gently at the animal he was carrying, rubbing with one careful fingertip while he traced the steps of the mech in front of him.

They walked back the way they had come. Dropkick set the female on the countertop of the opening room and turned to gather some supplies from the cabinets behind him. Bumblebee set the male down near the female and watched them interestedly as they moved closer to one another and set to studying what it was the indigo mech was up to. Bee was glad to see them so curious. He hoped they retained that trait, as it would make them much more lively.

"_**Here's the data chip that contains everything need-to-know about taking care of humans, both sexes… Complimentary second and third sets of clothing articles to keep them in good condition… And here we go,**_" the mech spoke absentmindedly as he placed the price-included items on the counter as well. Bumblebee subspaced the garments and picked up the data chip with interest, immediately setting it up for scanning. "_**You have a choice of branding for your humans. Would you prefer a metal band – in the style of your choice – to be placed about one of their limbs to identify them as yours, or would you prefer the insertion of a small chip under their skin?**__"_

Bee was intrigued. He considered his new pets and then the indigo mech. He asked, "_**What do they entail?**_"

"_**The chip is the surer of the two for durability and convenience, but comes at a higher price – almost negligible, though, if you care about their safety. It's practically microscopic and will include the designations you give them, their records and serial numbers, your name, your given living arrangements, and a small amount of room for other information you think pertinent to store, all of which are safe-frequency and passcode protected against alteration. There's a standard viewer frequency that other mechs can access to see that information.**_" Dropkick pulled out a small metal circlet and held it up for Bumblebee's inspection. "_**The bands contain much of the same information, but there would be a nominal fee to replace them should the information change.**_" The indigo mech also considered the humans. "_**Chips are inserted into the upper backs of the humans, where their skin is thickest and most durable. The major bonus of band identification is that humans are immediately known to belong to someone, whereas chips are obviously not so telling.**_"

To Bee, the microchips were sounding the better option of the two. Plus, what if the humans detested wearing bands about their limbs? How would he like it if he had a hoop stuck over one of his legs for the rest of eternity that he couldn't remove if he wanted to? "_**Does it hurt them to carry a microchip?**_"

"_**Oh, no,**_" said the mech. He sounded honest, but Bumblebee couldn't help but think about how second-nature it was for Decepticons, ex or otherwise, to lie. "_**They'll likely experience a little discomfort when the chips are injected, but they will be unable to feel them after that. They'll probably forget they ever had them injected quickly enough.**_"

"_**I guess I want them chipped, then,**_" Bumblebee informed the mech, looking over the waiting humans fondly. He already didn't want a single bad thing to happen to them under his watch. There was something about the way the male's eyes had looked as they watched one another…

He was handed a datapad to fill out. Dropkick prepared two little needles – little almost being an understatement – as Bumblebee endeavored to answer all the questions, provide all the payment, sign all of the agreements and give all the information asked for so that he could introduce the pair of humans to their new living premises.

Bumblebee slowed in his focus on the pad in his hand, diverting some of that attention to watch as the pet-keeper grabbed the female and held her upper body steady between two fingers and a thumb. Two of the digits curled gingerly about her front while Dropkick's thumb pressed steadily against her back, pinning her in place. The mech holding her had lifted the garment donning her torso. The male had already come closer to the female, the two of them vocally mingling now. The sounds fascinated the ex-Autobot. Dropkick lowered the needle he held with his opposite hand. The female twitched and inhaled air – Bumblebee felt guilty for having caused her even that amount of discomfort – when the needle tip was inserted into her skin and the chip was injected. He reminded himself that it would be to their benefit in the long run.

Dropkick released her and took up the other needle and chip. He then curled his fingers around the male, drawing the human across the smooth countertop and closer to him. As if it was entirely insignificant, he raised the fabric from the male's back and held it with one of the fingers along the animal's front. After a second, the male, too, was injected with a microchip. Like the female, he twitched at the needle's intrusion, but much more gently, and he did not gasp.

"_**There we go.**_" The mech slid the needles themselves closer to Bumblebee for inspection. "_**The sides of these detail their respective chip frequencies. You can set the information to your specifications, including the passcodes, at your leisure. The information will automatically synchronize with and update our records. If you're done with that datapad…?**_"

Bumblebee motioned for the mech to wait, and he rapidly went about finishing the last few bits of the pad, signing it at the end. He handed it over.

"_**Excellent. Would you prefer a carrier? Two might be a bit much for you to carry back to your abode.**_"

"_**Could I?**_" asked Bumblebee politely.

The mech responded with a disturbingly pleasant, "_**Of course.**_"

Dropkick turned back around and fished through the cabinets. He placed a collapsible, metal-barred cage before him. It seemed able to fit perhaps three humans before it became crowded. The two humans were then nudged into the thing. Once they were both safely inside, the cage was closed. Dropkick slid it closer to Bumblebee.

Bee placed the emptied needles into his subspace, nodding to indicate that he had committed the frequencies to his databanks.

"_**Pleasure doing business, sir,**_" the indigo mech told him, nodding once. "_**Please enjoy your pets and feel free to use this shop to buy any other accessories.**_"

Again nodding, this time in the affirmative, Bumblebee carefully picked up the carrying contraption. He said 'thank you' and 'goodbye' and then left from the store, his arms wrapped protectively around the thing that carried his new companions. Bee was very conscientious about keeping the cage steady as he walked.

Bumblebee peeked at the humans several times on his hastened journey home, each time coming to find that at least one – normally both – of the humans were watching him as well. The creatures simply fascinated him, as well as the idea that they would be a step up from every day, run-of-the-mill aliens who would just laze about unresponsively.

He could not wait to have them home, safe in his quarters at last.

* * *

**A.N.**

**Soului** asked an excellent question: how would the (ex-)Decepticons be able to hide human sentience; wouldn't a human-owner catch on?

Yes and no. The humans would never be seen as just dog/cat-like animals, but more like an exotic pet, i.e. what a chimp would be to us. For that reason, any problem-solving/tool-making would seem normal. As for language? First, most mechs would only buy 1 human (thus decreasing the need for said human to speak at all). Second, the humans are sort of 'trained' to be quiet in the stores, albeit the results of that all depend on how long one has spent in a store. Third, most mechs wouldn't think to consider what they heard to be anything more than what growling/purring/barking are to us.

The mechs fully recognize humans as more complex than your average pet, but at the same time, just a pet. After all, I'm sure a race of giant robots that has traveled the universe has seen stranger combinations of sentience/appearing-to-be sentience in aliens before, as well as their own share of superiority complexes (i.e. Europeans first coming to the Americas and treating the natives as less than human). Of course, every mech would probably have his own opinion about just how 'sentient' his human was…

And thanks to all my wonderful reviewers. Any comments are always appreciated!


	4. Rapid Readjustment

**Title: **Property Of

**Rating: **T

**Summary:** During Cybertronian 'peace,' ex-Cons hide the sentience of and sell humans as pets to secure Earth. Sam and Mikaela might just be the first to grasp the reality of the situation alongside their new owner.

**Chapter:** Rapid Readjustment … and Setbacks

A.N. – Sorry for the wait… school has been quite the source of interference, but I finally decided that enough was enough and another chapter needed to be posted. After all, if I don't get all these prerequisite chapters out of the way, we won't be able to start any of the fun stuff (wherein Bee and Beachy cease to be the only familiar mechs!).

Yes, it's sorta fast-paced for most of this chapter. Yes, it's mostly done by design (both to mirror how Sam/Mikaela keep seeing events race by and to get to more pertinent stuff quicker). No, truly important parts to the story will not be as rushed.

And for anyone who cares, Happy Valentine's Day. I'll love you forever if you make sure to tell me where my proofreading failed!

* * *

The trek home lasted a perceptional eternity. It seemed that vorns after traveling from the pet store, Bumblebee found himself entering his shared apartment and beating a quick path to his section of the four-mech living area. In just a few moments more, he'd have the two humans safely home. He couldn't wait for them to get used to their new surroundings, which he hoped wouldn't take too long…

Beachcomber almost walked into him as he exited a room, and the yellow mech had to come to a halt. Bee was very careful not to jar the carrier with his sudden stop.

"_**Back with your human already?**_" Beachcomber greeted, a little surprised. "_**What did you decide on – male or female?**_" He attempted to see around Bumblebee's arms, but Bee was too quick for him, spinning smoothly and keeping his pets level. The mech gave a playful but honest click. "_**You have to show me, I was the one who suggested it to you.**_"

"_**I **_**will**_** show you, just let me get in our side of the building first, okay?**_" responded Bee, only feeding off the air of excitement. He still had a priority to get them inside. The last thing he wanted to do was start a scene that Maul and Tiptop would be able to hear and become interested in. The last thing _anyone_ needed was those two ex-Cons poking their servos into their business, especially when it regarded his newest pets.

Which, he realized belatedly, his roommate still didn't know there were two of. Bumblebee suppressed a mischievous click.

Beachcomber acquiesced, letting Bumblebee pass and then following him. When they reached the door in the main rec room that separated their side of the building from the other two mechs' side, Bumblebee asked Beachcomber to wait right outside until he told him to enter. Once again, the pacifist gave in.

Bumblebee was glad to finally be away from the mech, though the charge of anticipation was still racing through him. He crouched down and placed the carrier gently on the floor. Bee opened it up and steadily, slowly tilted it. Both male and female came sliding out onto the metal tile, holding onto one another.

Distantly, Bee wondered if they really would produce offspring while they were with him.

_**/ You can come in now, / **_he commed Beachcomber, pushing the carrier to the side.

Beachcomber wasted very little time in opening the door, although he managed to do so calmly so as not to scare the human on the other side. He entered the room with a similarly cautious step. At once, his optics were on the two forms on the floor. The three of them engaged in a mutual inspection as Beachcomber managed, "_**You bought **_**two? **_**Is that a male **_**and**_** a female?**_"

Happily, Bumblebee whistled confirmation. The humans looked around pointedly at the noise, but were quick to refocus on the approaching mech.

"_**You didn't tell me that you wanted a breeding pair!**_" Beachcomber accused, moving forward and crouching down to study the animals. He reached a hand out, hesitated at the shared stiffening, and then pet the male's head comfortingly.

"_**Because I didn't. Don't,**_" informed Bumblebee. "_**At first I was just going to get the male, but he and the female have a history together. I didn't want to separate them, so I bought them both.**_"

Beachcomber paused for a second. He was buzzing as he moved from boy to girl, rubbing her head in much the same manner. "_**You do realize, though, that they could produce offspring, whether or not you try to get them to breed? And many carrying organics get temperamental when it comes to defending their young.**_"

"_**I'll deal with that when the time comes.**_" Bumblebee looked on as his friend worked brief vocalizations out of the humans. "_**Aren't they the sweetest little things?**_"

"_**Much more docile than I expected, actually, considering that they are taken in from the wild. They better not have drugged these animals, or tamed them through violence…**_" muttered Beachcomber. With Bee's permission, he drew the earthling femme into one of his hands and raised her to his optic level. Her eyes raced over him and her heart rate picked up as he examined her, which brought a sad sort of smile to Beachcomber's face. "_**Aren't you a pretty little earthling? Good femme,**_" he praised her patience, lowering her nearer his chest when he was satisfied. He stroked her several times more before placing her onto the floor almost exactly where she had been.

"_**There's something about the male, 'Comber,**_" Bumblebee said when Beachcomber took the male into possession. "_**When he looked at me, I just realized that I had to keep him with me, where I knew he would be safe. I don't know why.**_"

Beachcomber gave a huff in acknowledgement. He praised the male, too, and set him back in place.

"_**When you've had him for longer you'll probably figure the instinct out,**_" the pacifist reassured.

The mechs stayed quiet for a long moment, content just observing the humans' first reactions to their home. Both male and female sat there for some time. Eventually, the male took to his feet. This prompted the dark-haired female to rise. The pair seemed almost painfully aware of the mechs watching them, which made both ex-Autobots' sparks reach out.

The male took a few cautious steps away. The female did the same, though in a slightly different direction. Only a small distance ever fell between the two.

"_**Maybe we should let them get used to their new surroundings for now? This whole ordeal must be very stressful for them,**_" Beachcomber noted. The mech looked thoughtful. "_**Do you want to go get some energon? I have to leave soon anyway, but when you return, you might find out what parts of the apartment they like best – like hide and seek.**_"

Bumblebee paused a moment, letting himself focus on the skittishly wandering aliens. "_**I guess you're right. No unneeded stress of two mechs staring them down first thing…**_" he agreed.

As he and 'Comber straightened up, the humans turned completely to face them.

"_**I'll be back, guys. Make yourselves at home,**_" Bee said hopefully. Then he beeped at Beachcomber. The latter nodded, also giving a pleased look at his newest roommates. He felt for certain that this would be a very good venture for Bumblebee.

Futilely hoping that both would be comfortable by the time he got back, Bumblebee followed Beachcomber back out of the complex.

* * *

Sam and Mikaela stared as first the blue-and-gray and then the yellow mech left in the direction that they had just entered from. For the first time, they fully straightened up. Neither had realized just how heavy a weight the combined attention of two mechs was… especially when they were only a few feet away, without a barrier between them. The fact that neither of those mechs had seemed so bad once one got past the fact that they were still mechs, enslaving humans as pets and all that, hadn't seemed to help that discomfort any.

The teens looked around the room. With their limited freedom, they began to trace the perimeter of the house. There was something like a table, something like a desk with a chair… another chair and desk across the room, some sort of contraption coming from the wall… Further away, a hall split off.

It was quite spacious, predominantly colored in many shades of gray, silver, and silver-blue. Not only that, but the lighting was bright and lively and washed away multiple layers of uneasiness.

Maybe this wouldn't be that bad? Sam was curious what was down that hallway. It seemed like there were at least two other rooms that it led to.

"This is so stupid," Mikaela announced. "I wonder if this is how Miles felt," she asked out loud. She stretched and glanced around the room, stepping over to one of the tables. Mikaela circled around a chair leg. "I hope he doesn't expect us to cuddle up on his lap and purr."

"Oh, I don't know," tried Sam, turning around in place with his arms out. He took a couple steps closer to the hallway. He gave his girlfriend a semi-smile. "I know it's utter bull in the long run, but I don't think I mind playing pet for now. You know?"

Mikaela raised her eyebrows skeptically at him. "No, not really. I mean, I guess they were just nice to us, but the idea of it! Being something's _pet!_ How are we supposed to be pets, Sam? Besides," she tacked on dryly, voice dipping lower, "I have a feeling he only got me to keep you happy."

Sam was taken a little aback. He hadn't actually thought too much about why he had been bought with Mikaela, what with the whole 'don't question a good thing' saying… or however it went. "What, like some creepy breeding experiment?"

The look Mikaela gave him said it all.

"If they're hoping to get babies out of this, then they're sorely mistaken." He reached around and itched at the spot where The Caretaker had done his deed with the needle. "Did they microchip us and give us our rabies shots or something?"

Mikaela gave a weak shrug. "Probably. We are this yellow guy's property now, according to them. Dogs and cats get microchipped and immunized all the time. Why not a lovable pet human?" She even laughed forlornly at that one.

"Trust me, 'Kaela, I get it," Sam conceded. He made his way across the room towards her. Even though there were no mechs present, he couldn't stop a cautious glance around every couple seconds. "The idea sucks. I wouldn't run up to one of these guys and ask them to take me home and put a collar on me any day of the week. But we're already in this mess and there's nothing we can do about it. Everyone else said the same thing – as long as you're affectionate and obedient you'll be better off with a mech than in a shop," Sam recalled honestly. It truly wasn't that he was psyched about playing kitten for an alien mech, but he was far from wanting to rebel and turn rabid on one. "So long as he doesn't start screwing us over, I think I can overcome my personal qualms about it and act the part. It's in our best interest."

The girl studied him for a tense moment, trying to consider his words, and everything that she had heard as well. There was always the chance that they could have ended up with someone who neglected them or abused them – not that they could be entirely certain that such treatment wasn't in store for them down the line. Plus, they had been taken together. She'd never thought she'd be that fortuitous in the midst of such misfortune… Mikaela knew that she had to at least give credit to that. At last she sighed; she gave Sam a genuine smile. "Fine. But if he tries to get us to do each other, I swear I'll march up to him and kick him. And I'm not going to be a cuddly lapdog – you can take that position, Mister Enthusiastic."

Sam couldn't stop himself grinning like an idiot. Surely he'd be able to make Miles proud. Living with aliens? He was definitely going to try and make the best of it. Feeling that he had had enough wallowing and disappointment in the last couple weeks, he did a three-sixty in place, this time paying complete attention to the 'vast' room they were in. Sam stole a glance at the seemingly discarded cage they had been transported in. Then he looked back at Mikaela, who was silently laughing at his antics. "Come on; let's check out our new home."

Looking about at the room one last time, Mikaela stepped over to him. They headed straight for the hallway. As they got closer, it became obvious that three rooms branched off from it. The one at the very back of the hallway was closed.

Mikaela moved over to the door on the right side of the corridor, grasping the doorframe and leaning around it. Inside there lay a slightly elevated metal slab and a shelf-desk thing further off in a corner. There were several images on the walls. These flickered occasionally, which made Mikaela realize with something of a start that they were hologram images or something like that. Other than that, the room seemed somewhat barren. She didn't doubt, though, that it was the bedroom for one of the mechs.

Sam, on the other hand, went immediately for the door on the left.

The room held a metal slab that he would eventually find out was identical to the one across the hall. Beside it was something that seemed like a nightstand, which immediately gave the slab away as a bed of some sort, and the room – therefore – a bedroom. Against another wall was a small set of shelves that contained various items and multiple little metal tablets, the same style that The Caretaker was always producing back at the store. Sam thought it was safe to assume that these ones did not contain information about humans on them.

But not just those oversized objects filled the room. "Mikaela!" he called back into the hall, shuffling around the doorframe and into the room. She was beside him soon enough, the pair of them simultaneously taking in the assortment of goods that were obviously meant for them positioned about.

One of the strange toilet contraptions was set in the distant corner where it was most unobtrusive and secluded. A big, folded, bluish cloth – easily the surface area of Sam's old bedroom – was placed neatly by a water dispenser. This dispenser was not like the one at the pet store. Mikaela approached it curiously and Sam ran his hand over the blue fabric as they passed it. He was surprised at just how soft the thing was.

The water dispenser had a dark frame with a clear container set inside it that held the water. The same sort of tube from the store extended from it, with a button to press to let the liquid flow, but this one was not set into the wall. It stood freely a couple feet from any other surface save the floor. Sam tested it and was pleased to discover that the flow was neither fast nor slow, but just manageable. Obviously, it was a good quality product.

"I'm getting the feeling that the yellow guy cares," said Sam, completely truthful. He walked over to the cloth again and dropped onto it. Mikaela had to nod the affirmative. When she came over, she lifted the fabric up to see under it. She raised her eyebrows.

"This isn't just one thing, Sam; there are more under here." She rubbed the soft, plush material between her fingers. It felt close to the material that the small blankets in the baby aisles were made of. "I guess I can't fault Yellow for skimping his duties yet."

Sam didn't answer for a moment. Then, "I hope Miles has it at least this good."

"Yeah," Mikaela agreed. She walked around the cloth, drawing up to a large box. A quick look inside revealed an impressive number of silvered packages, instantly recognizable as food packs. Her stomach gave a little twinge. "What the heck," she spoke to the room at large. "Do you want a thing of food, Sam?" she asked him.

Sam tilted his head to make eye contact and then nodded. Mikaela tossed him a pack and grabbed herself one. As he sat up to open it, she made her way over.

Mikaela didn't stop to sit by him. Confused, Sam watched as she kept crossing the room.

"Where are you going?"

Mikaela pointed at the bed-thing. "Under there." Even as she said so she had reached the berth – ah, now that seemed an appropriate name for the thick metal expanse – and stood adjacent to it. The thing was elevated only a few feet, somewhere around waist level, and Mikaela sat down beside it. Sliding, she eased her way underneath and kept pushing herself until she was all the way back against the far wall.

With a shrug, Sam stood and made his way over. He wanted to be a part of the under-the-berth food party.

The teen mentally grinned. He made sure to think the word 'pizza' very loudly and clearly, and hoped that, wherever he was, Miles picked up on it.

* * *

Verita Pax was nothing like Iacon or Kaon had been. Compared to the other colonies, perhaps, it was a fine place to live, but the true Cybertronian metropolises outshone Bumblebee's current home like a red giant to a white dwarf… or so Bumblebee thought. He'd only glimpsed his ravaged home planet twice since the ceasefire had been called. By the second visit it had already looked much better – a testament to how effective Prime could be when he set his processors to something (not that Bee had ever doubted him to begin with).

Practically every city, however, had been refitted with very cheap but effective domes that served only one true purpose: allowing generators to fill the encampments and colonies with a breathable atmosphere for domesticated humans. The domes also provided some measure of protection against space debris, but it was for the profit of the human trade that they really existed. Bee glanced up at the transparent cap to Verita Pax, musing to himself about the many ways in which Earth had changed Cybertronian lives.

One day, he thought, he'd very much like to see the organic haven that he'd heard so much about, and was the native planet to the two creatures that were currently somewhere inside his home.

He had reassured himself several times that there was nothing dangerous for either of his pets to get into. He had, after all, been very thorough in his preparations. Yet, Bee still couldn't suppress random moments of worry in which he'd have to recompile his safety checklists and review them.

Bumblebee gave a courteous, absentminded greeting as he passed a taller blue mech. It was just a few more turns and he'd be back at the door.

There was a definite effort involved in not sparking out of his armor with excitement. As far as Bee was concerned, he hadn't felt this worked up about anything since Megatron had disappeared. Even the later ceasefire wasn't this visibly exciting. But, he knew it would probably be best for both of his humans in the long run if he didn't smother them right from the start. Beachcomber had convinced him that slow and steady was by far the best course of action in adjusting his pets…

… who definitely needed names. Bee was not about to refer to them as 'his pets' or 'his humans,' always grouped together, for any stretch of time. Primus, what to name them? So many choices! But he couldn't just name them carelessly; their names needed to mean something about them. Maybe he'd just need to spend a little more time with them before assigning names.

The ex-scout was not quite as giddy as he had been when he first returned home with his pets, but he was still very excited to step back into the building he called home. However, the moment he entered the structure, his sensors began to tingle. Bumblebee narrowed his optics. The information he received was nonspecific, not even completely sure of itself. It put him on edge. But, he was too happy to let whatever was causing this get in the way, right?

Awkwardly, split between an enthusiastic desire to spend time with his new humans and an ingrained caution that something was wrong in the hallway ahead, Bumblebee stepped forward.

"_**What's with you?**_" a curt voice taunted. Bee snapped his head to the right, focusing on the green speaker. Tiptop was leering down at him, a faint smirk on his faceplates. "_**You and Beachy seemed happy earlier, and you're more on edge than normal.**_"

Bumblebee remained silent for a long moment as he regarded his ex-Decepticon 'roommate.' A few paces behind him was Maul, silent but calculating.

"… _**It's none of your business,**_" he said as kindly as possible.

Maul and Tiptop looked knowingly at one another. Then Maul prompted, "_**Did you get yourself a human, there? We saw you earlier – you came back with something.**_"

Blue optics shone all the brighter. "_**It's none of your business.**_" He wanted to be back with his pets even more now. Bee frowned internally; he shouldn't have been naïve enough to hope the ex-Cons wouldn't be watching them closely enough to know something was up. "_**Now if you'll excuse me, I want to get back to my quarters. I have things to do.**_"

Similarly, Tiptop's red optics glinted. "_**Of course.**_"

Bumblebee dipped his head in very forced courtesy and turned towards his side of the building. Maul's voice called after him, "_**Tell the little guys 'hi' for us!**_"

Bee said nothing as he opened his door and entered his and Beachcomber's section, pressing the closing button forcefully behind him, wishing that it was one of those irritating mech's heads that he was pushing.

How did they know he had more than one human? Why little 'guys' and not 'guy?' Whether they had actually seen more than they were letting on – which was a strong possibility, as the pair of them rather enjoyed playing with their 'targets' – or were actively spying on them, Bee didn't know.

Either way, he had more important things to tend to.

Previous irritation dissipated once he set his processors to locating his humans.

The carrier appeared to have been abandoned. A quick glance about showed that neither human was anywhere readily visible in the main room.

"_**Little humans? Where'd you get to?**_" called Bumblebee gently. He moved leisurely through the apartment, looking about at the ground for a sign of where his new pets had scurried off to during their exploration. Softly, he picked up the carrier and peered inside, but to no avail. "_**You better be safe, wherever you are.**_" He closed the abandoned object and placed it on his desk. That needed to be removed or stored, Bee noted, since he wouldn't be needing it anymore.

Bumblebee determined that his humans were definitely no longer in the main room after a slightly more thorough scan. Logically, he moved to the hall and scanned its length. When he came up with nothing, he moved curiously on to his own quarters. Perhaps they had already found the supplies he had set up for them there? Bee peered around the doorframe into his room.

At first glance, he might have thought the humans weren't there, either – wouldn't Beachcomber be thrilled to know the humans had found themselves inside of _his_ quarters – but he reassessed that. He heard something moving under his berth, faint but definite.

Bee whistled low, and the noises stopped. He clicked with amusement as he entered the room. When he reached the side of his berth, he lowered himself to the floor to see under it, and he grinned. "_**Found you.**_"

The male was very near to him, he realized – probably stopped in the process of crawling out from under the piece of furniture. Much further away, lying down on her back against the wall and well out of his reach, the female looked over at him but did not move.

Bumblebee smiled at them and extended the fingers of one hand into the crevice under his berth until they were as far in as they could go. The male regarded the fingers for a moment in stillness, and then he slid across the ground to meet the metal digits, even wrapping his arms around one after the female vocalized something or other. The human rolled over onto his back.

The smile increased. Bumblebee lifted and lowered his claimed finger a fraction. From this position, it was the closest thing to playing with the human that he could manage. The male proceeded to hang on for a while, and then slid – playfully, if not measuring – out from under the berth, moving along the outline of Bee's arm. He moved ever closer across the floor.

After a moment Bee stopped watching the one human and switched his gaze to the female. He beeped at her and tapped the fingers he still had under the berth invitingly, trying to convey, 'see? I'm not hurting him, and I won't hurt you!' Still, the female stayed in place, doing nothing more than looking him over with very searching little eyes.

Oh well. He supposed he should consider himself lucky that the male was this comfortable with him already; maybe it would just take a little longer for her to warm up to him.

Bee looked back down at the male human, who had come to a stop almost directly next to his face.

"_**Hello to you, too,**_" greeted the yellow mech, bringing around his free hand to rub his human's brown hair for a moment. The alien ducked down at first, the contact startling him, but steadily calmed. The reflex reminded Bumblebee to keep his movements slow and conscientious at this point. It wouldn't do him any good to make them think he would be violent with them. "_**Aren't you friendly and sociable? You know, I don't think your femme is very comfortable right now,**_" he spoke to his pet. It was watching him with an intense expression. Those organic eyes were still trying to tell him something, but in a language just as foreign as the creature itself. "_**She'll learn that I'm no threat to her soon enough, I hope.**_"

Bumblebee withdrew his hand from under the berth. The male looked over at the noise it made, but quickly settled back to staring up at him. Bee used the retrieved hand to continue his toying, propping his head up with the other one.

"_**I need to give the two of you names. What should I call you?**_"

The ministrations of his fingers ceased as he contemplated the question. The male regarded him in what Bumblebee imagined was an inquiring way. "_**Hmm… Well, you did sort of call yourself to my attention by looking at me. Possibly… Caller? No, that's a stupid name…**_" Bumblebee looked at the human's eyes from different angles, amusing himself by observing the way his motions were tracked meticulously. "_**Alert? No, I'd think of Red too much… Oh, I know! How about 'Signal?' You signaled me, and that name's not stupid. Yes. Signal is the perfect name for you.**_"

Pleased, he poked the human gently in the side. Newly dubbed Signal curled away from the intrusion, and Bee smirked conspiratorially. "_**Now what about your female, huh? She doesn't even seem to like me that much. I bought her for you, just so you know,**_" he informed Signal, putting on a fake serious expression. His optics lit up in inspiration, and Bumblebee glanced back under the berth to the human in question. "_**There's a neutral name for her – she's your mate, so why not call her Complement? That has a certain ring to it, don't you think?**_"

Signal and Complement… Complement and Signal. Bee repeated the names a few times aloud, glancing at each human in turn. They seemed even more appropriate after a few repetitions. Yes – he would be happy with those names.

"_**Now, 'Comber and I think it'd be best to give you two your space so that you can get used to your surroundings on your own terms and warm up to me,**_" said Bee. He had resumed carefully petting Signal. "_**So, because I've got a bunch of files to read and forms to fill out, I'll let you guys be for now.**_" The ex-scout smiled with his optics and took his hand back. Conscientiously, he pushed himself up and stood.

Signal took a couple steps backwards during the process and scanned him up and down.

Yeah – Bumblebee supposed living in close quarters with mechs would probably take some getting used to (hopefully not too long!). As for Complement… he was determined to have her comfortable and willing to approach him well before the orn was out.

* * *

That first day, Sam and Mikaela didn't travel out into the main room again. At one point Sam took a few steps into the hallway, glanced down it, and – discovering that Yellow was doing something at one of the giant desk-things – turned back around. Mikaela ventured out from under the berth and neatly collected the first two layers of soft fabric to bring back for Sam and her; Sam might not have gotten a bad vibe from Yellow, but that didn't mean he wanted to fall asleep in the middle of the floor where he could easily be pestered or accidentally stepped on.

When Yellow casually pet Sam while briefly returning to the room to grab something from a drawer in the wall that neither human had realized was there, Mikaela joked, "Well aren't you two cute?"

Sam gave an exaggerated shrug and rejoined her. They'd already been over the 'docile equals safety' debate, so there was no need to repeat his explanation. Besides – after several hours of just talking, Sam and Mikaela both knew that she wasn't as against the idea as she'd sounded. Simply, she was less comfortable showing it.

They talked about Miles for a long while, wondering how he was faring. They mused about how their Earth-bound relatives would react if they knew what had happened to them.

"Maybe one day, we can convince the aliens that we can all live in harmony, and they can show us how to invent an interstellar cellular phone," suggested Mikaela. They were under the berth, cuddled up against one another with one of the layers of fabric over them, sharing a food packet. "Then we can call everyone and let them know we're okay."

"Maybe. Or, we can find Yellow's cell and then long-distance call Earth. We can rack up his minutes, text the Vulcans… Make a lunch date with that hitchhiker guy – what's his name – Arthur? Yeah, Arthur Dent – and we can stop in for a bite to eat at the 'restaurant at the end of the universe.'" Sam scrutinized the ball of doughy material he held then stole a glance at the water dispenser. Water for the rest of ever… "I could seriously go for a chocolate-strawberry milkshake right now."

Mikaela laughed, with a yawn poking through. How long had it actually been since the last time they'd slept? "You have such a girly taste in milkshakes."

"Oh, that's right," grinned Sam. He gave a yawn as well, instantly cursing the psychologically contagious things! "Manly men drink meat flavored shakes, right?" Mikaela rolled her eyes at the comment. "Steak flavor? Beef jerky? I bet Trent was a beef jerky shake drinker, wasn't he?"

This time the eye roll – and accompanying yawn – was not so comical. The teen was quite happy not reminding herself that she'd ever gone out with that dimwitted jerk, and all because he had a nice car! What had she been thinking?

They stopped talking and settled with lying next to one another. Sam thought it was Mikaela who fell asleep first, but he wasn't sure.

Mikaela, however, was the first to wake up. Feeling the sudden urge to stretch, she eased herself away from a still-sleeping Sam and proceeded to sprawl out in the area under the berth to stretch her arms and legs out. Then she noticed that she needed to use the bathroom.

Once she began to move towards the opening from the berth, it dawned upon her that the room was dark. Mikaela hesitantly crawled out and pulled herself upright. The ceiling lights had been turned off at some point, although the door was still open and the light from the main room and hallway continued to glow faintly into the room.

She looked back and forth a couple times, wondering whether or not Yellow was in the room – on top of the berth 'sleeping' or whatever the robot equivalent was, which would explain the lights being off – or still working in the other room where Sam had last claimed to see him. It set her to wondering just how long they'd been sleeping and just how long a robot's feasible 'day' lasted. The Caretaker always gave them simulated nighttimes, but that didn't mean that the robots ran on the same schedule. Mikaela would be surprised if they did. How long _was_ a robot's day?

Mikaela definitively told herself that that question was neither here nor there, and she'd discuss it with Sam later. Right now, she needed to use the bathroom.

A few moments later, while using the strange little contraption, Mikaela determined that Yellow was not 'sleeping' on the berth. From her position she would have been able to see him if he was there, and he definitely wasn't.

Better for her security of mind, she supposed.

When she was finished Mikaela made her way back to the berth. Three-quarters of the way there a movement in the hallway stopped her dead in her tracks.

Yellow was peeking quietly around the doorframe, glowing blue optics contrasted against the near-completely silhouetted shape of the rest of him. Mikaela blinked. Suddenly, the only one awake in the not-so-bright room, she felt alone and anxious.

The moment Yellow began to slowly pull the rest of himself into the doorway and step in, Mikaela glanced furtively at the berth. Would or wouldn't it be a smart idea to just move for the thing, trying to appear casual and not like she was trying to offend him?

Her attention snapped back to Yellow because, the instant she had turned her look of mounting uncertainty to the berth, he made a gentle noise at her that sounded like smoothly grinding gears. He kept Mikaela's attention for several long moments, and she stood nervously still as the mech drew closer and closer to her. The second he came within ten feet, however, she took two steps towards the berth, her neck craned back to try to keep those blue lights visible.

Mikaela inhaled when the mech lowered, making it so that she didn't have to strain her neck so much. This time he stayed his ten or so feet away. Yellow continued to make noises at her for a little while; Mikaela knew the mech was talking to her, telling her something, and it irritated her to not know what it was he was trying to communicate in the darkness.

And then he stood back up and back tracked, leaving her the only conscious thing in the room once again.

Mikaela looked to her right and then to her left, more than a tad confused, and tentatively crawled back under the berth. This time she snuggled under the blanket, careful not to wake up Sam, and willed herself back asleep, not quite knowing what to make of her new owner.

The following 'day,' Yellow was nowhere to be found. Sam and Mikaela dared to venture back out into the main room without either mech present. For most of that day not one mech was home. The other mech was in the house – apartment? – briefly, during which he did a few things in his room and made various cooing noises at them. He stood around talking to them for a while, and spoke as he went about his odd little tasks – whether to himself or to them, Sam and Mikaela didn't know. Regardless, the mech did not inspire an above-average need for caution. When he finally left, Mikaela turned to Sam and declared, "That guy's nothing more than a big softie!"

Softie, as he was now dubbed, did not return again that day.

The day following, the teenagers woke up and both Yellow and Softie were back. Both of them were working at their desks when the couple ventured out to the main room, only this time the giant metal furniture had been rearranged so that the two desks were closer to one another so the mechs could talk.

When they spotted the humans entering the room, the mechs paused in their work and watched the now-cautious duo pace about. Even Sam felt awkward at the staring, and when Mikaela suggested they go back to Yellow's room, he eagerly obliged. The rest of that day was much the same as the first, with Yellow occasionally milling about his room and talking to them – petting Sam when he came out from the berth – but generally giving them their space.

It had only been a few days and Sam was quite certain he could be 'happy' here. Yellow had been very respectful so far, and both mechs were very careful around them.

Mikaela had even admitted that, "while it's possible he's just caught up in the 'new pet' happiness, I guess he's really not _that_ bad. It could be a lot worse."

Then, the day after that, Yellow was the only one in the apartment when they awoke. Unlike the other days, he was waiting for them. Sam and then Mikaela crept from their sleeping place and, as was now 'routine,' moved for the food and the amenities. This day, a cheery beep greeted them.

Mikaela jumped a mile, all traces of sleep fleeing her as she spun around to face the berth. Sam flinched and turned, although much more steadily.

Yellow was currently sliding off his berth with one hand hidden behind him. Sam and Mikaela glanced warily at one another, not at all certain about the change of events. Yellow crouched down the moment he could, resting his free hand on the ground for added balance and allowing his two humans to back a couple paces away. Lowly warbling, he brought his other, closed hand forward and held it to the ground. After the mech let his pets look the appendage over for a moment, he opened it.

Sam drew his head back, tilting it to the side as he regarded the little, somewhat-round objects in the mech's hand. At his side, Mikaela took a step forward.

"Are those… apples?" she worked out, taking another slight step forward to get a better look. Yellow made a pleased chirp at the motion. Sam looked at her and then steadily closed the distance, reaching slowly out over the palm and grasping one of the red fruits, momentarily taking the other in hand and passing it to Mikaela.

Yellow watched them expectantly.

Mikaela raised the food to her mouth and, with her wary eyes on the alien, bit into it.

It crunched lusciously in her mouth, juice – but not too much – running across her lips as she gave into the urge to practically suckle the fresh fruit. Eyes closed without a lingering care to Yellow's presence, she took a larger bite, savoring the flavor and texture and the smell that was finally beginning to grow stronger. Sam was in equal fixation on her left.

Yellow seemed very pleased with himself as both humans enjoyed their apples as if they had been given to them by a divine being.

They ate their fruit without word, the only sounds being the delicious crunching.

When at last the teens finished their surprise treats, Yellow gave Sam an affectionate head rub. He moved his hand over to Mikaela and held it there a moment, waiting for her to protest. But, satisfied with the apple, she felt obliged to let the mech pet her, and tried to shrug off any feelings of resentment as her head was fondly stroked. However, Yellow still seemed to pick up on her stiffness and quickly stopped.

He told them a few quiet words before he stood and left the room. Another few minutes later and the teens heard the main door opening and closing, and they knew Yellow had left.

Sam turned to Mikaela with awe in his eyes. "Where did he get apples from?"

"Don't know, don't care," Mikaela said truthfully. "The only thing that could make that better was if he'd had pineapples…"

Feeling like he'd been rejuvenated, Sam thought he'd go investigate Softie's room, like he'd been planning to do since the previous day. As Mikaela went to resume her morning regimen, Sam wandered off.

Yellow really wasn't half bad. Maybe their days were a little boring, sure, but that probably couldn't be helped. Really, how exciting did dogs or cats find their days at home? He kept that food for thought in mind as he mapped out the second mech's room.

Sam grew bored of that rather quickly. He crossed the hall again and stood in the doorway. Mikaela was headed back under the berth, but he made her stop by calling her name. "I'm going to hang out in the front room. You want to come?"

"After I fix the blankets, yeah," agreed Mikaela. She disappeared back under the slab.

Shrugging just a little, Sam walked back out and made his way to the main room. He was already in the room when the thought struck him; it couldn't hurt to bring one of those blankets out front and set it up there, right? It'd make for a more comfortable place to sit and talk if nothing else.

Right when he'd decided to go back and get one, the door opened.

Sam's first instinct was that Softie was back, because he was always coming in at odd times for a few moments and then leaving again.

Not this time.

Two mechs, larger than Yellow or Softie, entered the room. One was purple and black and silver, the other a dark green with gold accents. Both had the red optics The Caretaker had sported.

What the…?

Sam was still stunned into silent immobility when the purple mech took a couple quick steps forward and made a lunge at him. With a surprised shout, the teen jumped to the side. Before he could gather his wits to run, the mech made another grab and caught him in a fist.

He was _not_ very gentle about it.

The strange mech lifted him up and studied him, keeping metallic fingers tight around him. Knowing they wouldn't be able to understand or get any ideas from him – and remembering that Mikaela said she was about to join him out front – Sam struggled against his captor and shouted, "Mikaela, don't come out here! Stay under the berth!" Chances were that they didn't know she was there, and she'd be just fine no matter what their intentions were…

The two mechs looked forcefully at him, not sure what to make of his outburst. Sam called out again, to tell Mikaela that there were strange mechs here, but the intruders had decided they'd had enough of that sort of behavior. The mech's grip tightened around him.

Inanely, Sam began screaming for help.

"_**Man, you're making it wail!**_" Tiptop exclaimed, pointing angrily at the thrashing human male. He scanned the rest of the place quickly. "_**Shut it up and help me find the other one.**_"

Sam found himself squeezed tightly, and his shouts for help died in his throat as his lung capacity was greatly restricted. The mech that held him began petting him roughly with his other hand. A disgusted shudder ran through the teen. Did the mech think it was actually being kind to him, or was that just some sick joke? A sudden urge to act the part of frightened animal rose up in him. Had he not recognized it as completely futile and potentially injury-causing, Sam would have bitten that hand.

The two mechs then left the main room and moved on towards Yellow's room. Sam felt his stomach bottom out.

They were looking for Mikaela.

All too soon they were in Yellow's quarters, looking furiously around. The green mech suddenly dropped to the ground and peered under the articles in the room.

A happy chirp – creepy in its cheeriness – told Sam that Mikaela had been located.

The green mech moved quickly, trying to thrust his hand under the berth to capture the girl. Sam heard her scream once. Then, the big robot stood and grabbed at the berth, pulling it aside with a mighty effort.

Sam imagined that Mikaela moved to get out of the way, but with too much of a delay from shock. The mech dived and Sam heard another scream, this one much more frantic. When green-bot stood up he had Mikaela clutched in one hand. The girl was struggling madly, yelling, cursing and everything else. Sam saw the mech tighten his grip, and he felt her pain; unlike him, Mikaela screamed harder.

The mech's red optics glistened. He took his mounting anger at the girl out by shoving the berth back into place with excessive force and a violent beeping.

The two mechs started conversing as they investigated their catches.

"_**Their femmes are fragging weird,**_" Tiptop said. "_**The frag are these things on their chests used for?**_" He rubbed the side of his thumb over the puzzling structures on the femme's front a few times. He felt the little female's pulse rate and struggles increase, and he blinked in amusement.

"_**I, uh, I think they're used for feeding the baby humans,**_" Maul told him. Then he lit up some, darkly. "_**Hey, what if she's carrying? You think Swindle's buyers would like that?**_"

"_**They have no need for a sparkling, and Bumblebee has no need for a baby organic. I say we get rid of it for him if she is. How would you like that, little femme?**_" asked Tiptop as he brought her to optic-level. "_**We could terminate your sparkling for you and save you the effort. Bee wouldn't even have to know about it.**_"

"_**Know about what?**_"

The mechs spun to find that the yellow ex-Autobot in question was staring at them, faceplates disapproving of their presence in his and Beachcomber's part of the building. More specifically, he was staring at his panicking pets: Complement was entirely freaking out in Tiptop's unkind grasp, and Signal had started acting up again for help, his little organic vocals producing tones that Bumblebee had never heard before. The ex-scout's optics filled with ire.

"_**Give her to me right now!**_" Bumblebee demanded with a harsh hissing, holding his hands out. "_**And you set him down this instant! Gently!**_"

The pair of mechs considered the smaller mech for a second. When his optics flashed dangerously and Bee gave a violent gear grinding that made even the struggling aliens pause, the ex-Decepticons decided it wasn't worth it right now. Maul placed Signal onto the floor, and Complement was pushed begrudgingly into Bumblebee's hands. Bumblebee immediately – and regrettably – had to close his hands around the female to keep her from injuring herself in her frenzy. He glared angrily at the two intruding mechs, who took the hint and left the room.

Bee waited until they had gone completely – fighting down the urge to bring his plasma cannon back online and use the pair of them to see if he still had his aim – before he glanced down at Signal. The human was standing shakily in place, looking around as if in a daze. Bumblebee then turned his attention to the female he was holding. His processors were on repeat: frag, frag, frag! He hadn't had his pets more than a couple cycles – not nearly enough time to readjust – and they'd already had to deal with Maul and Tiptop? What's more, if he hadn't forgotten his datapad, Primus knew what else could have happened in his absence!

"_**I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I should have known they'd do something like this,**_" he told the femme, pulling his hands close to his chest and purring at her. It didn't exactly work, though. She was still fighting, if not weaker than before. He even thought that she might have been broken or injured – as her eyes were leaking fluid – but the faint running water soon ceased. His spark felt for her fluttering organic heartbeat, trying to reassure himself that she was okay. "_**You're safe now; I'm here. Nothing's going to hurt you anymore,**_" he insisted.

Bee sighed a gust of air and glanced down to where he had last seen Signal. Surprisingly, the male hadn't moved off to hide or find cover to wait out his previous fright. Though he looked a bit shaky, he remained in place, head tilted back, probably to try and keep sight of Complement.

Bumblebee stepped forward fluidly, moving for his room. Signal quickly followed after him. "_**There's nothing to scare you anymore, it's just me. You're safe,**_" he continued to tell the female. He dared to uncurl his hand, having faith that Complement would not try to escape and harm herself in the process. The human did not disappoint. She even allowed him to position her so that her back was propped against his chest armor and he was allowed to stroke her side comfortingly. Then again, he wondered if she had any strength left to protest.

When they entered his quarters, Bumblebee sat on the edge of his berth. He continued to coddle the spooked female, spark rumbling at her for reassurance. "_**Why did they have to do this to you? You weren't even used to **_**me**_** yet, let alone mechs like them…**_"

Complement's heart rate was starting to slow again. Bee noticed Signal acting up on the floor, and he decided after a moment's hesitation to lean forward and help him up. Perhaps the presence of a fellow human, her mate, would help calm the femme. He placed Signal next to him on the berth.

The two humans instantly began exchanging noises and motions. Bee thought that the femme looked much stricter in her appearance than the male did, and he decided to stay out of the exchange.

Complement and Signal interacted for a short while. In the end, the female shook her head about. Then, she curled backwards into Bumblebee, hugging herself into a small position, but clearly moving into him in a sign of trust.

Bumblebee's spark leapt in realization that she recognized that he had helped her. Signal had dropped and was sitting now, back pressed against Bee's leg.

Maybe, in a twisted sort of way, it had been a blessing that his apartment roommates had terrorized Complement. At least she saw him as some sort of protective force, for now at least.

Comforted by the nearby presence of both of his pets, Bumblebee carefully moved about on the berth, sliding Signal around gentlyly. The female stirred, looking around for a second like she would start panicking again, but she calmed back down soon enough. Bee lay down atop his berth. The male was still propped against his leg, but at a different angle now. Complement – tired from physical exertion and panic – curled discreetly on his chest plates above his spark, soaking in the warmth and energy.

He didn't really need to meet with Ironhide just yet, he supposed. Bee was content in the knowledge that nothing could get to and harm either of his humans in this position. Purring at the pleasantness of that idea, Bumblebee fell slowly but surely into recharge.

* * *

**Readasaur** also presented another wonderful question, not unrelated to the previous: marks of human civilization are all over the planet, and even the moon. If Earth is being used for resources, how the heck don't the ex-Autobots realize what's going on?

Again, more than happy to answer now and then elaborate later in the fic. Firstly, the ex-Cons got to Earth first. Their name doesn't come from 'deception' for nothing; they are especially careful to keep the ex-Bots out of the loop. Similarly, most ex-Bots don't get to go to Earth. Those that do are escorted by ex-Cons who would make sure to eliminate any trace of civilization in key areas of visitation.

Plus, food for thought – with all the technology failings, the humans – including our trio – probably don't know just how ravaged the majority of their planet actually is…

Trust me, these things are not oversights – they tend to be constructed by design and will be explored later. But again, if you have any questions nagging you and are worried I'll never fully explain them later, feel free to ask. I'll answer to the best of my ability.


	5. Lost

**Title: **Property Of

**Rating: **T (mentions of spooning and the make-believe word 'robosexual')

**Summary:** During Cybertronian 'peace,' ex-Cons hide the sentience of and sell humans as pets to secure Earth. Sam and Mikaela might just be the first to grasp the reality of the situation alongside their new owner.

**Chapter:** Lost

Once more, thanks for enduring the update wait. I'm fairly certain the next chapter won't take as long, because the bulk of it is already typed or outlined.

For future references/retrospectively, I consider a **breem** to be several minutes, a **joor** to be several hours, an **orn** about a week and a half, a **vorn** about 85 some odd years, an **astrosecond** a few seconds, and then the often-mentioned 'cycle' depends on who's talking and the rotation period of the solar body inhabited. In case you were wondering.

Plus, anyone care to wager who the first new autobot we'll be seeing in the next chapter (6) is? Or, for that matter, the other 2 that appear soon after the first?

… And I still never heard anything back regarding the cameos of Rad, Alexis, and Carlos (the 'nods' to my first experience with TF) in the 1st-3rd chapters. Does that mean I'm horrible at describing them in a nonchalant way/excellent at making it not seem obvious, or that y'all were too lazy to point them out to me? *is curious*

* * *

Four days had passed since the red-opticed purple and green mechs entered Yellow and Softie's home with whatever ill intentions they'd had. Mikaela belatedly pointed out that they'd seen those mechs once before, if barely, when Yellow first brought them home from the store.

Sam didn't like the prospect that those aliens might be sharing the same building as the two of them at all hours of the day.

At least for the moment, though, it didn't seem to matter all that much. Since 'the incident,' Yellow had been overly attentive. Once they woke up after napping with him he had procured several more fresh fruits, and even more followed over the subsequent days. When Yellow left, it was only for brief moments – no more than half an hour at the latest.

This day was no more and no less special than the previous three. Sam was the first to wake up, and a simple glance out from under the berth revealed that the lights were already on so Yellow must be up and about.

Incidentally, that was another thing Mikaela and he had noticed. The mechs didn't exactly sleep. In the week and a half or so that they'd been pets, Yellow had only used his 'bed' three times to their knowledge. One time, he hadn't been up there for more than a few hours before he was up and moving again. The second, less than that. The third… the third had been the other day when he'd been dozing off with them (if robots could even doze off, or if they had anti-dozing wirings, and Sam really had to stop thinking about the word 'doze,' because it was starting to sound extremely weird). That may have been logical. How much sleep – or sleep supplement – could a robot need?

Sam glanced over at his girlfriend. Mikaela was only just stirring. If her mumbles and breathy exhales were anything to go by, she'd want to use at least another fifteen minutes for the waking process.

Sam conscientiously crawled out into the open and made his way to the restroom, otherwise known as the corner. He relieved himself, used some water from the dispenser to 'wash' his hands, dried them on one of the last sheets of fabric remaining in Yellow's room, and headed for the door.

He paused when he stepped into the hallway.

Very quickly, Sam and Mikaela had grown accustomed to moving only between Yellow's room and the giant front room. Softie's room had been closed most of the time anyway, and the door at the far end of the hallway had never been opened, at least as far as they knew.

Today? It was open.

For a second, the teen was torn. His logic supplied that, just maybe, there was a reason why that door was never open. Maybe – just maybe! – he wasn't supposed to be in there. But, from what he could see, the room didn't appear to be special. There was a section of wall-lining cabinets visible, and it was mostly dark, but no giant spikes of doom or glowing laser sensors.

… Sam was so going into that room.

He sneakily inched down the corridor, reminding himself that he didn't know how Yellow might react if he found him in there, so he best do so secretively. Closer… closer… _closer_…! Triumph!

Sam grinned like he'd just sneaked an ice cream sandwich before dinner, which his mom was absolutely adamant about not allowing. He slid his foot experimentally into the room, bit by bit until his whole foot was in. Then, he stepped in after his foot. With a noticeable delay, he decided he was having entirely too much fun with this simple activity. Could one really get this bored with life this quickly once the internet and television were removed?

The secret room seemed much less special now that he was in it. There were cabinets lining most of the lower walls, just like he'd surmised, except for a few areas. One of these blank sections was taken by the legs of a table, although Sam couldn't tell what was on top of it. Same went for much of the counter space, and the shelves that were lined further above those.

"_Warble-click_?"

Sam nearly jumped right out of his skin.

Yellow was standing several paces behind him, looking down with an inquisitive expression. As Sam braced himself for a slew of possible responses, the yellow mech took in the room, then Sam, and then the room for a few moments. Then he warbled gently. Yellow crouched down before too long and offered his hands.

Sam found himself at a loss. Blinking his uncertainty, his eyes moved between Yellow's face and the metal hands waiting right by him.

"Um…?"

A single 'um' was all it took for the mech to extend his limbs just a little more and carefully pick him up. The split second surprise was crushed quickly enough, and Sam felt stupid for not having realized that the mech was trying to entice him to be held.

He was actually surprised he and Mikaela hadn't been spontaneously picked up before now, obviously discounting the first day home and 'the incident.'

Yellow raised him without effort and stepped further into the room. The mech warbled and whirred while he slowly turned about in the room, and Sam distinctively felt as if his owner was trying to explain the area to him.

It was sort of endearing.

"Is that so?" he played along. "Oh, is that what that does? How spiffy."

The sparse language seemed to please Yellow.

From his elevated position, Sam surmised that the room was some sort of utilities area. Part of the countertop had a basin in it, likely a sink. There were several discarded rags lying about as were seemingly random bits of metal and machinery, and a few clear canisters of liquid substances and other solid things that might have just been other containers.

The grand tour lasted about three minutes. Yellow then set him back down and returned to the front room as if nothing had happened.

After a dismissive shrug, Sam amused himself by wandering his new territory until he spotted Mikaela stepping out from Yellow's bedroom. He called her over.

"What's going on? Why's the room open?" she asked, taking in her own share of the new surroundings.

"Beats me, but there's a sink in here, that's all I know," Sam said.

Mikaela smiled. "Maybe we can fashion a ladder and get up there for a bath. I don't know about you, but I haven't gone this long without a formal bath or hair wash since I was a rebellious little kid…" She snuck a glance downwards. "And don't even get me started about leg shaving." Now, she grinned humorously. "I wouldn't blame you if you ran for the hills after this."

Sam gave her an incredulous look and motioned for the door. While they left he told her, "You could look like a werewolf and I wouldn't care."

"Just remember you said that, Sam; it just might get to that point," she laughed.

They traipsed into the main room and were greeted with a happy note from Yellow, who was seated at his desk and working. Unwilling to be bothersome, Mikaela and Sam found themselves atop the layer of cloth that Sam had relocated.

Quietly – so as not to attract extra attention, because Yellow was always enthralled when they spoke so much as a couple words – they conversed about various issues and reflected again about Earth and their families and whatnot.

The teenaged couple was well used to the discovery that people had a horrible tendency to fall asleep when there wasn't much to do. Mikaela was the first to point out that they'd probably benefit from a hamster wheel or the little toy ropes that birds got to play with. Sam expanded the idea to include hamster tunnels, and he became quite excited about the prospect of having translucent green and yellow and whatever other colored plastic tubes interconnecting and crisscrossing all up and down the building.

Unfortunately, no hamster tube paradise had been constructed for him.

Instead, after lazing about in the soft cloth, whispering conversations for several hours, and taking a short break to go get breakfast and bring it back, the teenagers were drifting off to sleep again. It mattered very little that they had been fully asleep and rested only a short while earlier.

Neither was certain how it happened, but some noise or other roused them. Mikaela sat upright fairly quickly, brushing aside the revelation that she'd somehow been spooning Sam – when had that happened, and wouldn't Sam just love knowing he'd been playing the girl in the spooning choreography? Sam was wakened more by her movement than the noise, but sat up shortly after her. He looked down at the fabric for a while in consideration before he gave his girlfriend a funny look.

"… Were you just spooning me?"

Mikaela shrugged. "Maybe a little." She tried to say it seriously, but a giggle snuck its way in. "Where's Yellow?"

The mech had abandoned his post. Sam's eyes widened and he pointed to a puddle of something on the normally pristine metal tiles. "More importantly, what the heck is that?" he wondered out loud.

In completely unplanned but completely entertaining unison, they stood and got off the cloth to approach the strange new addition to the floor.

Sam and Mikaela scrutinized the spilled substance.

It was the most glorious blue color, bright and rich, with a few slightly different shades that swirled like the oil in parking lot puddles. It didn't look like it was that thin of a consistency – perhaps like thick, genuinely chocolate milk… or thicker, Sam couldn't tell. Mikaela thought there might have been a faint glow to it, but given the lighting, she couldn't be sure.

"What…?" Sam trailed off, stepping closer with an outstretched arm.

* * *

Spilling energon had never been part of Bumblebee's plans. The ex-scout was really quite upset with himself when one of his joints caught on something in his systems and made him jerk. The cube he held had still been full since he'd just left the dispenser, and therefore some sloshed out over the rim and splattered onto the floor.

He cursed quietly.

Bee stole a glance at his humans. Complement and Signal were huddled up together on the bedding that one of them had dragged out to the main room a few cycles prior. They were obviously sleeping, which meant they probably wouldn't be getting up and splashing about in the chemical substance any time soon. At least, definitely not until he could get it cleaned up, which only took a short while.

Bumblebee set his cube down on his desk and then quickly went to get a cleaning rag. He grabbed one from the counter of the cleaning room and wet it with the distilled water from the sink. As the worn fabric became saturated, the ex-scout regarded the water. Maybe he should draw Signal or Complement a bath one of these days? The data pads said that most humans were at least partially aquatic, meaning they could swim, and gentle cleaning chemicals were completely safe for them.

Later. Bee would think more about that possibility later.

Cloth sufficiently wet, he turned off the faucet and wrung out the excess. He moved back down the hallway and reentered the room with the procured rag, but froze up with deep, sudden panic at the sight of Signal drawing close to contact with the energon.

When had the humans woken up? When had they moved? Why didn't he hear them? What in Primus's good name did Signal think he was doing?

Bumblebee nearly began flailing in desperation, processors spinning to figure out a way to instantly get Signal to stop because the human still hadn't taken note of him ('still?' his processors seemed to laugh; 'you've only been standing here for a fraction of an astrosecond'). Bee did the first thing to come to his mind.

"_**Signal, **_**stop!**" he screeched, issuing a violently loud and piercing whistle that would certainly make Signal freeze in what he was doing.

Sure enough, Signal and Complement both jumped and snapped their attention to him at the sound. However, they also proceeded to cry out in blatant pain. Signal drew his arm in rapidly, well away from the threatening energon. He used it and his other limb to cover his ears, as did Complement. Both humans then drew into cringes, their whole bodies wincing and curling in on themselves, literally trembling – either voluntary or not – because of the shrill sound.

All this happened in another shutter of an optic.

Bumblebee cut the noise off once he saw how dreadfully his humans reacted to it. The initial fear for their safety became replaced with indescribable guilt.

Rag still limp in hand, the mech came forward quickly, crouching down near the spill to remove it entirely as a worry. His optics flickered sadly when Signal and Complement took a few nervous steps away from him with large organic eyes indicating their fright and their bodies still partially contorted.

"_**I didn't mean to cause you any pain**__,_" he softly explained, "_**but you can't touch this. You can't come in contact with energon.**_" The two organics eyed him warily as he made quick work of cleaning up the blue substance. Bee looked to them when he was done. "_**This stuff can really hurt you, and I don't want anything happening to you two. I'm sorry I scared you,**_" Bumblebee apologized. He reached out to soothe his two pets, to comfort them and show that he hadn't meant it, but he paused when they twitched and leaned away from him. Warbling lowly to express his regretful sadness, Bee drew his hand back in.

* * *

Mikaela was almost afraid to remove her hands from her ears. The piercing sound was echoing in her skull, making her mind rattle. She could almost feel her inner self shaking back and forth from the ringing in her ears. Using her arms would have made it easier to balance during her hasty retreat from Yellow's outreached hand, but she just couldn't risk it, no matter how greatly logic told her he had stopped making the sound a while ago.

Sam was in a similar state, though it was of no consolation. He was breathing heavily, hands held but a scant few centimeters from his ears – just in case the offending noise came back.

That had been a complete one eighty. Yellow never did _anything_ to upset them or frighten them.

Both of them stared in apprehensive confusion as Yellow reclaimed his hand and stood up, carefully cradling the blue-stained rag. A few tense moments elapsed. No one moved or made so much as a squeak.

Finally, Yellow slowly walked away from them.

Two uneasy breaths were released into the air. Sam's eyes were frozen in a glare at the floor where the blue liquid that had caused the whole fiasco had been spilled, so deceptively innocent.

"I… I don't think we're supposed to touch that stuff, Sam," Mikaela shakily breathed.

Overwhelming incredulity on his face, Sam stared at her. "You think?" he gave a weak, semi-forced laugh, and pulled his hands down to his side.

They waited for Yellow to come back and take his seat before hastily making their way back to his room so they could wait it out under the berth until they felt up to wandering around again.

… They could still hear a ringing reverberating in their heads.

* * *

The few days following the unpleasant event with the blue liquid were very mellow. Mikaela and Sam noticed a definite change in Yellow's behavior starting the moment he'd settled back down after reprimanding them.

Not only had he been careful to give them their distance the rest of that day, but the following day as well. Of course he greeted them when he saw them, but Sam swore there was something very penitent about the mech. Mikaela agreed with Sam when he said the giant yellow robot had been acting like he was treading around an angry predator, unwilling to upset it any further… which was an awkward experience to feel around one of the aliens.

Today was probably the first day Yellow had directly approached them since then. It was within an hour after they first left his room in the morning. After speaking to them in robot, he procured two apples quite literally from thin air and extended them at an achingly slow pace. Yellow faintly smiled with his optics when Sam and Mikaela each claimed a good-will apple and began to munch on it, but he let them be after silently watching them eat for a few seconds.

Sam and then Mikaela followed after him once they were done with their fruit. Although Yellow had already resumed working with more of the metal tablets, he gave them another encouraging optic-smile while they settled onto their daytime blanket.

"I certainly hope that your hamster playhouse idea comes to realization," Mikaela told him hushedly, as was custom in Yellow's presence, "because I seriously don't think I can survive the boredom of this for more than the next couple weeks. The only thing spontaneous about this place seems to be guessing whether or not Softie will be here."

Softie, coincidentally, was still making himself scarce in the home. The teens wondered if maybe that was why Yellow had gotten them to begin with, and – inevitably – they'd had their share of laughs tossing around the idea that the two robots were involved with one another ('robosexuals,' Sam had offered). So far, they hadn't been able to find any evidence to back up that theory.

"I'm sure we can think of something, 'Kaela," he answered. "You have to admit, though – doing nothing beats doing homework, and it beats being a slave."

She shrugged a bit. "Definitely the last one, not so certain about the first at this point." With a sigh, she pressed herself against his left side and let him drape an arm around behind her shoulders.

This time they were careful not to fall asleep. While Mikaela recited the last school schedule she'd had, and they exchanged opinions about the teachers and some of the more memorable assignments ("I mean really, Mrs. Carollo – making a life size model of the large intestine?"), Sam tried to braid her hair.

While he really liked Mikaela's hair and had nothing against it no matter its condition, he could honestly say he was grateful for the benefits of having short hair without access to shampoo, conditioner, or ample amounts of water.

They continued to chatter and tamper with one another's hair until Yellow pushed his chair back with a squeak-squeal of metal sliding roughly against metal. Both paused and looked over; Mikaela had shifted so that she rested her head on Sam's chest while investigating one of his hands, and Sam was in the middle of twirling a tendril of black hair about his free index finger.

Yellow rose up and approached them. He spoke a series of clicks, chirps, and chirrups, and crouched down steadily. During part of his little speech he extended a hand and let it hover low to the ground. It rested about halfway between them; Sam and Mikaela blinked at it impassively. Once he was sure that neither human was offended or uneasy, he closed the distance and pet them. Mikaela tensed against Sam as one of his metallic fingers glided over her side, so Sam tightened his grip reassuringly on her. Sam remained very still as the mech pet him – more like tapped him – several times on the head.

Yellow continued to speak a few seconds more and then he straightened up. Although he regarded them for another moment, he forced himself away and back to his desk. This time, he didn't sit back down. He gathered a few of the tablets from the top and then went for the door. Yellow did pause once more, and chirped an obvious goodbye to them, before leaving.

Mikaela glanced around for a moment after his departure. What were they going to do now?

As if on cue, Sam's stomach gave a grumble.

Sheepishly, Sam shifted. "Snack time?"

Mikaela rolled off of him and let him stand. He climbed to his feet and then helped Mikaela up so that they could take the walk back to Yellow's bedroom.

Each grabbed a silvery packet from the food box, and Mikaela took a moment to get a sip of water. Sam quickly crossed the room, dropped down, and crawled under the berth while Mikaela wiped her mouth and took her time following after him

"Bon appétit," Sam joked once they got settled. "Delicious, ready-made artificial nutrition right here." He shook out the contents and ate them without further protest after Mikaela gave him an acquiescing roll of her eyes.

Together, they ate in silence. Bit by bit the unnatural foodstuffs disappeared. They were just finishing when they heard the front door opening.

"Back again?" asked Mikaela with amusement, taking the last bit of foodstuffs from her pouch.

Sam jerkily tilted his head, studying the ground at the statement. His chewing slowed to a stop and he swallowed with some effort. For some reason, this was inciting a serious sense of déjà vu. Mikaela grew concerned at the look on his face and gave a questioning expression of her own. He cleared his throat a second later and placed his now-empty packet on the ground.

"It's just, the last time Yellow left us alone and someone came in pretty quickly after, it was…" he trailed off, his stomach bottoming out when he saw Mikaela's eyes widen and her body stiffen, staring at something just beyond his head. Sam was almost unwilling to look, but willed himself to twist around.

Purple and green feet crowded the doorway, the purple set stealthily making their way into Yellow's room and directly towards the berth.

The exact unity in which Sam and Mikaela both cursed under their breaths might have been entertaining any other time, but not now. Mikaela grabbed onto Sam's arm and pulled him up so they were on hands and feet, ready to scramble out of the way and not get taken without a fight.

The dark green feet moved towards the long-ways end of the berth while the purple stood firm right outside the normal, width-wise approach. Looking frantically back and forth between the two, slowly feeling an irritating surge of panic rising up, Sam began to retreat with Mikaela to the farthest corner. What where these mechs up to?

It seemed that the moment they started to move, the entire berth lifted up. A solid wall of surprise slammed into Sam, making him freeze for a moment. Light from the rest of the room spilled in as the green mech lifted the berth up and over and the purple mech dove swiftly for them.

There was a muffled shriek that Sam couldn't recognize as either his or Mikaela's (although the out-of-place look Mikaela gave him suggested it was his) and they both scrabbled backwards for safety. Unfortunately for them, there was none. The purple intruder descended on them and very deftly, very efficiently, closed a hand around each of them, separating them with ease.

Purple whistled something to Green and lifted himself off the ground, backtracking a few paces with his struggling cargo. Green put the berth back in place and straightened.

"Not again, not _again_," Mikaela was protesting. She recognized the futility of fighting – if she somehow managed to free herself from his hand, she had only a fall to the ground to reward herself with – but she couldn't override the reflex just yet.

Green stepped around the furniture toward Purple and held his hands out. Sam was passed, gentler than he'd been handled last time, to the waiting mech so that each alien held one human – a much more manageable number, he supposed. The intruders clicked and whirred at them briefly, which left both teens wondering just what message the mechs could want to impart to them, and then neatly excused themselves from Yellow's room. They completely ignored Mikaela's cries for help.

Inanely, Sam hoped Yellow would show up. Any second he'd appear, miraculously stopping the robbery in progress once again.

But he didn't appear. Green and Purple passed from the room and then the hallway and then through the main room unhindered. Then the main door opened and they were in the room and hallways they'd only been in once when they were first brought into their owner's home.

_Come on, Yellow_, willed Sam with all his mind, _you need to get back here; we need you here!_

The instant the mechs stepped outside the building, Sam felt something weaken inside. Yellow hadn't come back in the minute-long window he was needed. If the purple and green thieves didn't want to return them, then there was very little Yellow could do for them now. The mech would have no clue where to start looking for the pair of them.

And was it wrong that he felt guilty about that?

Mikaela had long since stopped calling for help; Sam imagined that she'd had enough of the reproachful squeezing, or that the uselessness of it had finally set in.

And they'd thought Yellow's 'screeching at them' thing had been bad. In comparison, their punishment had been a tender cuddle. Speaking of which, the guilt began to rise again. Sam knew that neither Yellow nor Softie would take their disappearances well, let alone if something bad were to happen to them…

Normally Sam might have taken the opportunity to check out his surroundings: to attempt to figure out once and for all if there really was a dome keeping oxygen in, to identify the favored architecture, to spot other mechs wandering around, to see if maybe the robots ever took their humans out for leashed walks or played Frisbee with them, but not now. All Sam could do was try to glare up at his green captor.

Just what the hell did the mechs plan on doing with them?

* * *

"_**You think Swindle will be upset?**_" Maul asked curiously. He raised the flighty femme closer to his optics and held her still, back towards him. The mech pinged her to determine if she had an identification chip, which she did, designating her 'Complement.' Silently, he asked Tiptop what the male's name was.

"_**Maybe, but not a lot; we're not that far behind schedule.**_" The green mech studied the human he held. "_**And this one is 'Signal.' Hm. Their names are backwards, if you ask me – she was the one crying out more.**_"

Not their concern, though. The pair of them navigated swiftly through the streets, trying to cover the distance to the outskirts of the colony as quickly as possible to make up for lost time.

Bumblebee's humans were surprisingly docile, actually. Apart form the occasional struggle, they were quite calm in the ex-Decepticons' hands. Tiptop was grateful – it made the transport much less suspicious and much more controllable.

Maul gave a rough chuckle. "_**We're also a little rushed-looking, don't you think?**_"

"_**They won't know how quickly we've been at this if we don't let them know. It's fine, Maul. Just let it go,**_" Tiptop ordered.

Several breems later they were making their final strides to the meeting coordinates. The large building, once used solely for stocking supplies during the first vorns of the colony's creation, looked almost abandoned to mechs who didn't know better. Very few would have guessed it was one of Swindle's favorite meeting places and, funnily enough, the second most common internal docking point for non-commercial crafts.

Definitely an upgrade from the 'shady' locations the profiteer had made use of before the ceasefire and 'legitimization' of his enterprises.

Maul was still hesitant about what sort of reprimand they might get for being tardy, but Tiptop was unworried in his approach. The new potential backers must surely be inside already, and they didn't want to enter seeming uncertain, because that would reflect poorly on Swindle.

Biting back his hesitancies, the purple mech followed his green accomplice inside. They made their way down a dimly lit elevator and two similarly-lighted corridors before arriving at the proper room. Tiptop knocked, received a permitting ping on his sensors, and opened the door.

This room was lighter than the rest of the building, but not incredibly so. There was a plain table sitting in the middle of the room, two chairs on one side of it. In one chair sat a silvery mech, Grit, and in the other a mostly black one, Payload. Swindle – in all his purple and faintly orange-accented glory – stood across from them on the other side of the table. Further behind Swindle, against the wall, were two chairs, clearly meant for them. A couple other spare chairs sat against the far wall near a smaller table with an energon dispenser and a few empty cubes.

"_**You're a little late,**_" commented Swindle with a well-concealed bite to his tone. Unspoken was the obvious add on, 'and time is credits.' The two potential investors looked curiously between Swindle and the new pair of mechs, waiting to gauge this first interaction.

Maul blinked at Tiptop. The latter spoke up, "_**Sorry. There was an unexpected delay in securing the presentation subjects.**_" Tiptop directed his next comment to their employer's guests. "_**Finding a male and female for display can be difficult, but here you are – perfect specimens of a young adult male,**_" and he brought Signal forward, "_**and a young adult female, or femme if it's easier.**_" Maul raised Complement.

With an approving nod, Swindle gestured for the humans to be placed on the table before him. "_**Very good. Maul and Tiptop, may I introduce you to Grit and Payload; Grit and Payload, these are Maul and Tiptop, the mechs I spoke to you about on several occasions.**_"

As the humans were placed on the table, Grit pointedly asked about their origins. Covertly accessing the data chips that he knew the 'borrowed' aliens possessed, Swindle responded, "_**These humans come from the stock of store 057, operated by Dropkick. Before that they were wild; serial numbers indicate they were located and taken into custody by Redirect, a crewmember of the **_**Rebound**_**, a couple orns ago now. So these specimens are relatively unadjusted.**_"

Payload leaned forward and reached out to interact with the earthlings, which had drawn conspicuously closer to one another. The organic femme recoiled at the gesture. Payload narrowed his optics in scrutiny.

"_**I haven't interacted with many humans. Are they all so skittish? I don't understand how the figures add up if so; it doesn't seem like it would be very profitable selling unresponsive pets,**_" Payload asserted, sitting back and leaving the small aliens to their own devices.

Swindle grinned faintly. "_**Humans can be trained to be very docile, and many mechs enjoy pets that don't demand constant attention.**_

"_**Now, the profit, my dear mechs, is undeniable when the different aspects are all examined. To start off, I'd like to reassert my offer standing at approximately eight to ten percent returns based on total bi-ornly profits.**_" Swindle maneuvered silently behind the humans and plucked the male from the table despite its gasp. "_**How can I assure the business is consistently profitable? The appeal for these loveable little organisms ranges across faction lines and ages and models, especially all the would-be Autobots,**_" chuckled Swindle. Maul and Tiptop recognized the beginning of the businessmech's final selling speech. Swindle didn't normally dive into things so quickly, but since they'd already arrived late and were out of his good graces for the time being, they unobtrusively found their seats. "_**Even if the ex-Bots don't like caging another creature, they tend to jump at the opportunity to 'rescue' one from my shops.**_

"_**But beyond the ever-growing appeal, major profit can be made with only the humans' complementary goods. The fabrication or importation of human nourishment is deceptively cheap. In keeping this guy fed,**_" the purplish mech 'fondly' pet Signal with his fingers, "_**his owner will be buying food at nearly five hundred percent production cost; every credit spent in production yields about four in that category.**_

"_**The same is true for the fabrics they don. Relative to human size, any materials produced are made in bulk, which means most average items have profits around three hundred percent, some ranging as high as six hundred, depending on the pattern and quality.**_"

Swindle placed the male back onto the table top. It inched nearer to its partner, and the businessmech smiled. Tiptop sent a quick communiqué advising against holding the femme for demonstrations, briefly summarizing her aversion to strangers.

Instead of holding her, Swindle opted to use a hand to block her off from the male, showcasing her with his other hand without ever lifting her up. "_**As for the females of the species… they have several special reproductive requirements, producing yet another area of profit. They're also increasingly popular in attempts to launch domesticated breeding programs.**_"

Although the mechs looking to invest seemed pleased by the figures and reassurances, Grit tilted his head curiously. "_**If you switch the source of product from Earth to breeding centers, wouldn't a large sector of your business be lost?**_"

"_**Very little, actually, if any at all. Not only does the projected growth rate of demand outpace the facilities' projected supply, but she, for example,**_" Swindle glanced at the dark haired femme, "_**is much less receptive to males in the presence of mechs. Rest assured, Grit; our trappers won't be going out of business any time in the foreseeable future.**_"

Grit and Payload nodded at one another. Payload prompted, "_**We've had several meetings and conversations with you, Swindle. We suppose your figures do add up – mostly – with everything you've told and shown us about this clearly profitable venture of yours.**_" He sat forward, very open and very honest. As he spoke and paused, his hands gesticulated. The human subjects watched the motions fixedly. "_**This meeting could have been a simple conversation,**_" admitted Payload somewhat apologetically. "_**Both of us are already quite keen on investing in the expansion of the trapping sector. But, before we do, we have a few pertinent questions.**_"

At the increased promise of more profits on his end, Swindle eased even more. He withdrew his hands from the female. "_**Pertaining to…?**_"

"_**These guys and their native planet,**_" Grit stated.

With a glint to his optics and a straightening in his stance, Swindle gestured for his guests to elaborate.

"_**You're a smart mech, Swindle – very good at what you do. We trust what you say about human physiology, so bringing these humans wasn't strictly necessary, and again we apologize for any added trouble.**_" Grit grew quite serious, immediately returning to the previous subject. "_**You must have heard the rumors.**_"

Swindle leisurely pulled up a chair from its resting place. He casually sat himself into it, directly behind the still-noticeably wary humans on the table. "_**There are many rumors about a lot of what I do and have done over the vorns. My trades have always been… a **_**tad**_** controversial. I'm afraid you'll need to be a bit more specific.**_" The mech was completely at ease, despite the seemingly sudden change in the meeting's atmosphere.

Payload blinked. "_**The ones about the real use of this pet trade and the significance of Earth.**_"

"_**Don't get us wrong,**_" interjected Grit, noticing the suspicious looks on Maul and Tiptop. The two might have passed for steadily bristling henchmen. "_**We're proud to carry the name 'ex-Decepticon,' and we could really care less if you told us the rumors about human semi-sentience are true and would call into question the handling of Earth. The specifics aren't really our business, because we'd still support expansion regardless of whether or not some fleshy collection of organic cells can process something akin to emotion.**_"

If anything, Swindle appeared even more relaxed. A knowledgeable smile worked its way first into his optics and then onto his faceplates. "_**What you want,**_" he ventured, signaling Tiptop and Maul to remain neutral, "_**is reassurance that if Prime and his lot somehow manage to convince people that there actually is the ability for higher cognitive processing in these tiny organic skulls,**_" and he swept forward to splay his hands on the table to either side of the humans; the aliens jumped, "_**that you, as investors in the therefore 'questionable' trade, would be free of all accusation. That if the business was to go down, so to speak, that you wouldn't join it.**_"

Grit and Payload looked to one another and nodded earnestly.

Swindle crooned, starling the humans. He scooped the male up and coddled him. "_**I assure you on two levels. One, my investors and partners will not take blame for my business. In fact,**_" he said with a concealed, self-serving grin, "_**I do my best to minimize electronic chains linking mechs to me. Secondly, even **_**I**_** don't know... the whole truth about these loveable aliens.**_" Although 'Signal' did not seem all that loveable at the moment, Swindle ignored it. "_**My connections on Earth frequently reassure me that there is no evidence supporting human sentience.**_" Again, he smiled in a way that suggested there was more to the subject – more to his statement and careful word choice – than was readily discernable.

The potential investors nodded. It was clear that they were convinced enough to proceed onto hammering out the verbal contract Swindle had mentioned to them meetings earlier. However, Payload accidentally spoke out,

"_**And do you have any insight into the rumors that Starscream–?**_"

"_**I'm sorry,**_" Swindle hastily interrupted, "_**that's something I'm not planning to associate myself with for fear of unrighteous incrimination . I'm sure you understand?**_"

After gently cuffing Payload, Grit said, "_**Of course we do.**_"

"_**Although,**_" conceded Swindle, "_**depending on how this venture continues to prove, we may find it beneficial to discuss this further at a later point.**_"

Payload and Grit were glad to hear it. All mechs present shared smiles at various levels of sincerity, and then Swindle turned to his employees.

"_**I suppose your assistance wasn't really needed after all; had I known it was unnecessary, I wouldn't have brought you out here for a mere breem. If you don't mind, you can take the humans and leave while we proceed with the legalities,**_" he addressed calmly. There was a fake hint of apology in his vocals for having wasted their time, but both mechs addressed knew that Swindle didn't care, especially after they had arrived late.

And really, they didn't care either. As long as they got credits out of it, they didn't care whose humans they took, how they took them, what they had to do, when, and so on and so forth. It beat lazing about and dropping into a processor loop from monotony.

Maul and Tiptop rose and bowed respectfully, saying their farewells. After the formalities they strode forward and picked up the humans. Signal and Complement still seemed to be in something of a daze.

Then, without further ado, they left the building. The last thing they saw was Swindle leaning forward to continue his discussion.

"_**Can't have fun with them all,**_" Tiptop admitted lightly. Perhaps it hadn't been worth the risk of stealing Bee's pets, but, again, they'd at least gotten some excitement out of it.

In seconds more they were outside and once again wandering the streets with two awkward organics in their grasps.

Now they were faced with a real dilemma. Did they want to risk even more of a let down by returning home instantly so they could get the humans back in their neighbor's apartment and therefore free them from all potential blame, or did they risk that their intelligence about the ex-Bot's schedule was accurate and stay out longer to actually accomplish something?

Either way, they continued moving about the grids of buildings and streets. Then they turned around a building and caught sight of one mech that they didn't want to see at the moment.

Maul froze in his tracks when he spotted the blue and brown frame of Nightflight, a local enforcer. His grip on the femme tightened slightly. Tiptop froze as well, but instantly snapped his hand out and grabbed Maul's right arm. He turned them around quickly, pivoting on his feet, and tried as fluidly as possible to steer them back a different route at a normal pace. Hopefully the mech hadn't noticed them…

The dark green ex-Con regretted the decision not to report to the questioning center at their last summon when Nightflight called from behind them, "_**Hey – you two!**_"

"_**Frag,**_" hissed Tiptop. He kept his pace measured and unflinching. "_**Don't stop. There's no proof we know he's talking to us yet.**_"

Both fought the urge to look back and see if the mech had gained on them. A call of "_**stop,**_" sounding closer, indicated that Nightflight was indeed ready to pursue them.

Maul's optics flickered and he looked spitefully down at Complement. "_**Tiptop, the humans; they aren't ours!**_" he muttered frantically back.

The green mech was well aware of that. If the enforcer caught up to them – not if, but when, because they weren't about to pelt off, draw more attention, and get in more trouble – he would enquire about the humans. That would mean identification, given their questionable histories. The IDs of the humans clearly marked them as Bumblebee's, and Nightflight wouldn't trust any story an ex-Con had about why he might be walking around with an ex-Bot's pets, and they'd get in a world of trouble, not to mention once Bumblebee was notified and he brought up the incident earlier that orn…

"_**We ditch them. Turn at the first building on the right, and we'll put them down and keep going,**_" advised Tiptop. "_**Nightflight didn't see them yet, I'm sure of it.**_"

"_**Bumblebee won't take this sitting down. Chances are he'll file a report because of our behavior a few cycles ago. We'll get in trouble with someone either way,**_" Maul said, ignoring another request from the enforcer to halt.

"_**Bee can't prove it was us. Nightflight can if we have to stop and we still have these little irritants with us.**_" Returning the humans was not a priority. Tiptop yanked his purple companion around the corner with one hand. "_**Now**_."

The pair of mechs dropped quickly and released the humans onto the ground in a motion so fluid it looked like it had been practiced. Signal was left to fall the last couple feet to the ground by an uncaring Tiptop, Complement conversely pressed into it by an insistent and tense Maul. The organics then skittered back, confused and scared.

Maul and Tiptop didn't spare another astrosecond concerning themselves with their 'borrowed' humans. They were upright and on their way not a moment later. Nightflight rounded the building at a brisk place merely spark beats behind them, whistling sharply and finally addressing his quarry by name. He did not see the small organics jump at the sharp noise.

"_**Tiptop; Maul. Stop right there, you two – we need to talk.**_"

Knowing that they couldn't ignore the enforcer anymore, the purple and green mechs stopped and turned nonchalantly. They inconspicuously shifted attention to the humans for the briefest of glances. Their roommate's pets were gaping with wide alien optics at the three of them, braced tightly against the building's outer wall.

"_**Didn't realize you were talking to us, there, 'Night,**_" Maul loosely grinned.

Nightflight wasn't impressed by the excuse if his unmoving faceplates were anything to go by. "_**Regardless – there are still issues requiring statements from the last series of allegations that you were involved in. And, considering you missed the last two appointments to give those statements…**_" the enforcer's white-blue optics shuttered disapprovingly, concealing his innermost thoughts on the matter.

"_**Two?**_" Maul repeated, sounding genuinely confused.

Nightflight let out a tired puff of air. "_**Yes, two. Unless you have somewhere you have to be right now, I think it'd be wise if you accompanied me down to the post and made your official statements. That way you don't need to worry about it again. At least until your next statements are needed,**_" he amended dryly.

Tiptop paused, falsely contemplative. "_**Do you have any prior arrangements, Maul?**_" he asked. The purple mech next to him seemed to consider and then beeped a negatory. He acquiesced mockingly, "_**We're free. Take us in, officer.**_"

Although Nightflight was still unamused with their antics, he stepped around the unrepentant ex-Decepticons and led the way back to the nearest enforcement post.

No one took heed of the two sets of earthling eyes that stared after them in blank panic.

* * *

"O-okay…" Sam stammered. He couldn't prevent holding himself close to the ground and the base of the building like a frightened animal. The teen looked around at the huge structures and up at the strange sky. Definitely a dome for oxygen, he thought absently. "I've got no idea where we are or what we're supposed to do about this."

Mikaela was also glancing around nervously. "You're not the only one."

A roaring noise erupted towards their backs. The humans jumped and spun, not sure what to expect, but there was nothing there…

"I like it better from the safety of Yellow's home."

"… I agree," conceded Mikaela. She was taking the initiative to step backwards towards the cover of what looked like they could pass as giant trash receptacles, but were probably nothing of the sort. When Sam caught on, he started making motions towards them, too.

Just as they reached their goal and spun to hide behind them, Sam spoke up, "We can't stay here forever. We'll starve. Well, we'll dehydrate first, but we'll starve, too."

"You don't think I know that, Sam?" Mikaela asked him, very irate in an instant. Then she calmed down with a regretful expression. "Sorry – stress." She pulled her legs in toward her chest. "I wonder how long 'til Yellow or Softie realizes we're missing."

Sam shrugged and sank down to the rocky ground beside her. "Probably soon after whoever gets home first gets home. They're always checking on us to make sure we're alive. It's pretty sweet."

"As sweet as a pet owner can get for his slave pets, yeah," Mikaela laughed.

It didn't need to be said that they would take a slave pet owner – which Yellow definitely was not – over being stuck outside in a city of mostly-volatile mechs, unprotected, any day.

* * *

Bumblebee could do without pointless meetings ever again. Maybe they were better than war meetings and strategic meetings, because there was always the positive in that no one's spark was on the line, but they were insufferably processor-freezing.

He opened the door to the main room slowly, unspeakably happy to be back home and able to just relax with his humans for a joor or so before he had anything to do. Already in a better mood because of the prospect, he signaled the door to close gently behind him.

The room looked horribly empty as Bee softly scanned it.

"_**Hello? Signal? Complement?**_" There was no response. Maybe the humans just weren't in the main room. After all, they did like to curl up under his berth and fall asleep… they were very sleepy creatures, apparently. Bumblebee double-checked his scans, and they came up negative again. He moved on to his room. "_**Where are you guys hiding?**_" Bee scanned over his room, got on the floor to look under the berth and everywhere else, and still, he found nothing.

Maybe Beachcomber had left his room open? He hadn't noticed as he walked by.

Bee peered out into the hallway, but he found almost instantly that no, Beachcomber's room was not open.

His spark and processors both gave a sickening twinge. His mood changed in an instant, his now infrequently used defensive programming kicking up alongside his spinning logic centers.

Neither Beachcomber nor his other 'roommates' had been home when he arrived. Neither of his pets was in their side of the building. He knew that there were no faulty parts of the building that the humans could have escaped through – he periodically checked to make sure there was no chance of if happening. Plus, Tiptop and Maul had already made it clear that there was nothing stopping them from waltzing in and taking his humans if no one was home to stop them; Beachcomber shouldn't have been home all day.

Rapidly growing frantic, Bumblebee moved from the ex-Autobot side of the apartment to the other, running bioscans every which way in hopes of finding where the ex-Cons had taken his humans. Unfortunately, not one came up positive.

A short, simple, and infuriating fact and conclusion hit him.

Signal and Complement were gone.

Bumblebee stalled, optics giving an uncertain flicker. "_**No!**_" he managed, hitting one of his fists into a wall. He glared at the floor tiling, processors still whirring, reawakening even more infrequently used codes. Those two mechs had better come back with his pets unharmed, or so help them… Bee couldn't prevent himself picturing all the horrible things that the two crude mechs could have done – be doing! – to his beloved humans. The pair of them could already be injured, force bred, sold to someone else, _dead_… And whether alive or dead, he had no doubt that the humans either were or had been terrified, which made his insides burn and his energon boil.

How did one go about terrorizing other living things for _fun?_ Bee simply could not work his processor around it, and it literally sickened him to know that his own two harmless, kind-hearted pets had been subjected to that lunacy. What was even worse than that? This was the second time his roommates had broken in to disturb Signal and Complement.

If and when he got his two humans back, he was upgrading those safecodes and rescanning for any surveillance equipment Tiptop and Maul might have 'left behind.'

If…

"_**Primus, let them be alright,**_" he muttered, head sinking temporarily in guilt and defeat. Then he righted his struts up, optics bright with determination.

He was going to go find his humans if it was the last thing he did, and if he found a single thing wrong with either of them, those two ex-Cons were going to regret it.

* * *

**A.N.** Yes, another fast paced chapter in most parts. Yes, Maul and Tiptop have problems. Feel free to start wondering what Grit/Payload were about to broach regarding Starscream and Swindle's true intelligence on the Earth situation.

P.S. – Find my typos, earn a prize!

P.P.S. - authors love reviews! It's frequently the encouraging PMs or reviews that guilt me into getting chapters done, regardless of real life setbacks/obstacles. :D


	6. Found

**Title: **Property Of

**Rating: **T

**Summary:** During Cybertronian 'peace,' ex-Cons hide the sentience of and sell humans as pets to secure Earth. Sam and Mikaela might just be the first to grasp the reality of the situation alongside their new owner.

**Chapter:** Found

Thanks to all my reviewers – you people make me squee on the inside with glee every time I get an e-mail saying I have a review or PM, and especially from **rainspiral**, who was the final push in getting me to finish this chapter in a timely manner. I just wish my life wasn't so (mundanely) hectic and that I could update for you more often. Please forgive my failings! * falls to knees and begs for forgiveness*

Yes, it's a bit shorter than the past couple chapters, but any more and it would've just been dragging on too much/stepping into territory best saved for other chapters. Forgive me for that, too, please.

* * *

Sam didn't know exactly how long they'd been there, but it had to have been a good long while by now. Every so often a mech or two passed by in complete obliviousness to their presence. He and Mikaela had both fallen asleep at different points, although neither had been comfortable while doing so. They didn't dare let a single inch of their bodies poke out from around the object that was concealing them from prying alien optics.

Both humans were currently awake. Sam's stomach had been making the occasional sound for the past twenty minutes, give or take. He was in the process of willing it to be quiet. Mikaela, who was unafraid to admit that it was noticeably colder outside of Yellow's home, was huddled tightly against Sam's left side, providing both of them with appreciated warmth.

Glancing to either side, she shifted.

"No one's been by in over an hour now, I'm guessing," Mikaela noted. Faintly, Sam agreed. "If we're going to move, now would be a good chance."

Sam, too, glanced to either side. She was definitely right. It had been a while since any pair of metallic feet had stepped on by them, and they were well aware that they couldn't stay here too much longer. It had to have been – what – at least five or six hours by now?

He nodded a couple of times. Secretly, he was glad Mikaela had been the first to broach the subject of actually doing something about the predicament.

Sam and Mikaela sat there, not sure who should move first, or if they should move at all. Sure, it made sense to move now, but did they really want to?

Mikaela made up their minds by standing, albeit sluggishly. She stretched her limbs and almost toppled over, having to brace herself against the building behind them. Sam followed suit even more sluggishly than Mikaela.

"Do we have any idea which direction those mechs stole us from? We might be able to find our way back," Mikaela feebly suggested. Even she recognized that the chances of that were practically nonexistent.

The boy in question rotated slowly. Maybe it was just him, but he didn't think that the lighting had changed at all in the entire time he'd been outside. Did this hunk of rock not have night and day, or were they just so long that it didn't matter?

"I think, maybe… that way?" asked Sam, pointing to his left, then making a little loop with his finger and pointing to his front-right to suggest that they'd traveled in both directions at some point. "…Maybe?"

His girlfriend shrugged. "Better than nothing."

"Maybe," Sam warned again.

"Still better than nothing," Mikaela insisted. She walked over to the edge of the cylinder and peeked around it. Sam followed closely behind her.

Again they didn't move. They scanned the empty street for several lengthy moments. This time it was Sam who took the initiative, whispering a "c'mon" to reassure the both of them, and stepping out entirely from behind their shelter.

They stuck close to the edge of the building as they progressed back down the street. When they spotted another garbage can look-alike on the opposite side of the road, they made a dash for it. Sam peeked out around this one much the same as Mikaela had from around the first. Once he built up the nerve to do so, he continued forward. At the corner of the building, Mikaela edged her face around the wall. She whipped her head back and shrunk closer to the ground immediately after.

"Not clear," she said quietly. "Two mechs." However, when she looked again, they had vacated the street. Mikaela nodded and she and Sam made another dash to the nearest cover – a seemingly randomly placed sheet of metal.

Despite the constant spikes of adrenaline, Sam used the slow-paced journey to examine the buildings a little more closely. The thing that struck him the most was that they simply weren't as monotonous as he'd have guessed. When Mikaela pointed out at the next possible source of shelter that the mechs had to have a society with its own culture, he began wondering whether or not a robotic species could be considered to have enough culture for a sense of art or architecture or something. Maybe 'robotic' really wasn't the best word for it, even if it was the easiest understood… and maybe now he understood why people had started calling the giant aliens 'mechs' when they were trying to be politically correct or whatever.

They made another mad dash, resting afterwards to catch their breaths.

Maybe, Sam conceded. He wouldn't call any of these buildings artistic by his standards – not by a long shot – but they weren't the identical cubes he probably would have expected from robots.

"If we get back to Earth, we should try and take some of this with us." Sam tapped the ground demonstratively. Space rock was always cool.

… Now that he thought about it, his feet hurt. Sam glanced down at said feet, pinkish and bare against the darker ground, and wiggled his toes; he glanced over at Mikaela's bare feet and frowned. He and Mikaela had been running across space rock that, while clearly smoother than it should have naturally been, was still – when you got right down to it – hard and irritating space rock.

Mikaela shifted against the wall, and Sam noticed how her toes seemed to hug the ground as she balanced. "I think Earth has had enough of things that come from space for a long time," she said softly.

Sam didn't respond with anything other than a noncommittal shrug. He walked past her and inched his way down the wall. She stayed behind in the shelter while he shimmied along the edge of the building. He saw a mech coming and rushed back to join Mikaela. They were both silent until they spotted the offending mech continuing along the upcoming intersection without pause.

They tried to move from that spot several times, but each time a mech or two came from some direction and they had to retreat. It took at least fifteen minutes before they were able to run across the four-way intersection and hide behind another garbage can.

"I'll never get upset about being kept in an alien's house again," Mikaela vowed.

She and Sam both readied themselves for a sprint down a bare wall before diving and crouching low behind several cube-looking objects.

"Does this mean you'll cuddle up to Yellow next time we see him?" Sam said, unconsciously avoiding the pessimistic 'if we see him.'

Mikaela glanced over at him. "At this rate I probably would…"

Then they noticed that the next string of alleys didn't have anything protective lining them in any direction. Sam gestured weakly at the nearest garbage can, seemingly laughing at them from the distance.

It innocently sat at least a six block stretch away, right at the end of the road.

"Well?" prompted Sam.

"Can't we find another way?" Mikaela retorted. She didn't know what was giving her the creeps, but she felt like someone was sneaking up on her. Mikaela looked over both her shoulders, but there was nothing in sight.

Sam shrugged. "It's the closest cover there is. We have to go for it. Besides, we've been fine so far, what's the-?"

"Don't say it," Mikaela cut him off with a subtle sigh. "You'll jinx us."

He shrugged again. Sam didn't need to find any more words of encouragement. At a hesitant, constantly shifting pace, they made their way down the side of the building, passing several doors and doorsteps on the way. Twice they swore they heard something moving, but there was no other living thing on the stretch of street besides the two of them.

So far, so good. Just over half way there…

There was a shuffling sound. Sam thought it was coming from up ahead and stopped dead in his tracks. His girlfriend, on the other hand, thought it was coming from the opposite direction and turned. From the hiking of her breath, Sam assumed she had been right.

"Oh my God, Sam," Mikaela said in a tiny voice. She stepped closer to him, moving backwards. With a sinking feeling Sam turned around. He didn't even need to follow her unsteady point to see the large mech – larger than any of the ones he had seen so far – walking their way.

The mech was white and blue-gray with a few markings of green and orange in little streaks, and his blue optics were partially diverted down into a box that he was carrying. Dull looking appendages – sensors? – extended from the mech's head unlike anything either teen had seen before.

Sam didn't even bother to curse under his breath. Instead, he fought through his startled paralysis and grabbed Mikaela roughly. The pair of them spun on their feet and darted for the accursed garbage can, startling the mech as they did so. When it exclaimed something or other, they glanced warily at him, though ultimately not stopping in their frenzied quest for cover. The pair of them dove behind the structure and tried to make themselves as small as possible.

"Is he going to follow us? Can he get back here?" Mikaela asked, fearful apprehension claiming her voice and breath. Sam splayed a hand on the garbage can and futilely tried to calm his lungs and heartbeat.

Panting, the pair snuck peeks around the edge of their shelter. They both realized that there was very little chance that the structure they had run behind could protect them if the mech really wanted to come after them; the space between it and the building was far too large for comfort. Not to mention that there was no way either of them was going to fit under the cylindrical thing if they needed to…

There was no action for a minute or so, but neither human dared to look back out and find out where exactly the odd mech had gotten to.

As it turned out, they needn't have bothered themselves over finding out where he was. They jumped at sudden motion to their right, bodies gripped briefly but tightly by panic. The gap there was suddenly filled with metal, eliminating it as an escape path. Similar motion had both teens spinning, gasping and retreating as the mech himself appeared on their left. They instinctively backed up until they found that they were pressed against the metal walls of the large building and of the recently added whatever-it-was.

The mech shifted, leaning in closer and uttering something into the now-darkened crevice.

Sam thought his eyes must have been moving like a crazy person's, the way he kept looking between the mech and their cornered position and Mikaela and everything else.

Then, the inevitable happened. The mech shifted again, forced to look to the side as he extended a hand into the tight-fitting gap, clearly intending to force them out one way or another.

"Oh no, oh no," Sam repeatedly muttered, trying to back up more as the mech's searching fingers approached. He and Mikaela tried to move to the side and avoid the hand, but there was simply nowhere left to run. Sam flinched when the metal fingers pressed against him – thankfully, at least, not hard enough to injure. He pushed Mikaela away, even though she didn't seem to want to go, and the rest of the hand encircled then closed around him. Although the mech's hand scrapped lightly against the wall while doing so, Sam was drawn out.

In the light the mech looked him over. The dull appendages were now flicking like light panels. The stranger took hold of Sam with his other hand, transferring him gently but firmly. In muted disturbance Sam stared as the mech leaned forward again and reached into the crevice. He could hear Mikaela's protests, but soon enough, the mech was withdrawing his hand again. Mikaela was held in its clutches, hitting the metal fingers and demanding to be let down.

The mech spoke to them, pointedly.

Both of their stomachs lurched when the robot leaned around their hiding place and placed them, one after the other, into the box they had seen him staring into. It had been empty the entire time.

Sam looked over at Mikaela, bracing himself when the box gave a shake because the mech was lifting them up. He could've sworn there were tears starting to gather in her eyes. If there were, he didn't blame her. The helplessness and frustration just didn't lighten up for a second.

Well… at least there was something just slightly humorous about the situation, since he simply couldn't fathom a reason for it.

What a mech was doing wandering around by himself with an empty box was anyone's guess.

* * *

Why the client insisted on not keeping the box was anyone's guess. He kept studying it, wondering why a mech wouldn't just keep it for storage purposes, and musing over the notion that any of his ex-comrades would have made fun of him for thinking so seriously about a useless container.

Wheeljack, however, had never been one to dismiss the hidden usefulness of objects. If he had, he may not have come up with some of his favorite inventions!

He glanced around curiously. It wasn't very lively outside right now, almost unusually so. He wondered if maybe he'd missed an announcement. Interesting. Anyway, back to his inventions: Ratchet would probably have something to say about how useful those inventions themselves were, but…

Motion caught his optics, instantly pulling them from their blank stare down at his box to the offending source.

"_**Whoa! Hello there!**_" Wheeljack greeted suddenly, halting his steps. One human, followed so closely by another that an ignorant mech may have thought them the same organism, raced across his path. They shot him wary looks as they dove for cover behind a nearby energon distiller. Wheeljack hesitated before he blinked. He looked around, half expecting some youngling or something to rush by in pursuit of his or her pets. Yet, there was no conceivable owner in the vicinity. Humans running around free? "_**That's… more than a little odd.**_"

It couldn't be safe for the two of those organics to be running around the colony without supervision. Plus, he thought the two might have been of opposite genders, and it would not be very thoughtful of him to let two escaped humans start breeding and populating a wild band to roam the streets. He had been planning on heading home after that last delivery, but he didn't really think it safe to bring the humans back to his complex. He chuckled once, processors looping back to a previous thought – Ratchet would probably have something to say about bringing innocent organisms into the 'blasting zone' that was his home and workshop, too.

That was the answer! Ratchet!

"_**You're coming with me, little guys,**_" Wheeljack decided. He was suddenly glad that he had been asked to keep the box from his last delivery. It would come in handy transporting the two aliens back to the Ark.

The mech puzzled over how he would be able to catch both humans without one of them running off and escaping while he was preoccupied with the other. Then he decided the best course of action would be to seal off one side of the distiller with the box he had, since humans surely would not be strong enough to move it, and then reach around the other side and grab them. They would have nowhere else to go but into his hands. Of course they might be frightened by being cornered, but it would benefit them in the long run.

"_**Seriously, you little escapees. You better not struggle too crazily because I don't want to hurt either of you by accident.**_" Wheeljack stepped over to the cylinder sticking out of the ground. In one swift motion, he placed his metal box to one side of the distiller and leaned over to peer into the only escape left to the humans.

Both were staring at him, obviously scared. As they continued to watch him they moved backwards as far as they could, literally forcing themselves into a corner between the box and outer wall of the domicile.

"_**Oh,**_" said Wheeljack, moving around the distiller fully. It would be a narrow fit for his arm, but he should be able to make it. "_**Don't be like that! I'm not going to hurt you.**_"

In what he thought to be a slow and unthreatening manner, he extended his right arm, ignoring the gentle scrapping it did against the wall. Most of his view of the creatures was blocked as he strained his arm into the tight area, but he knew to close his hand around a soft body when he felt it. "_**There's one of you…**_" Wheeljack withdrew his hand and looked over the male human that was in it. "_**Now for your femme, hmm?**_"

The process was repeated, only this time Wheeljack closed his fingers around a female who was quite near to having a fit, he thought.

"_**There, there. Stop fighting me; I'm not going to do anything to you, you're just coming on a little trip with me.**_" The inventor-engineer studied them. Gently reprimanding, he told them, "_**You'll get stepped on or run over at this rate.**_"

Wheeljack leaned back around the energon distiller and deposited his catches softly onto the floor of the metal box. He flashed his lights at them as they stared up into his optics. Not wanting to waste anymore time, Wheeljack grabbed up the box and continued walking.

"_**You're lucky it was me that found you and not some ex-Decepticon. They wouldn't have been as kind,**_" he admonished the two aliens, glancing down at them every once and a while.

He hoped Ratchet would know what to do with them.

* * *

Maybe they wouldn't be euthanized after all? Mikaela had gloomily brought up the possibility that they would be turned into the alien equivalent of the pound, where they might be put down because they might be rabid strays. There were some comedic nuances woven in, but they were overridden by the unhappy prospect itself.

"But what if those needles back with The Caretaker really were microchips? We might have reason to hope yet," Sam told her, trying to say it comically but not quite managing. Besides – the new mech, who had been quite appropriately dubbed Flashy (and not because he seemed overly flamboyant or like an exhibitionist, but because of the oversized strobe lights on either side of his face), hadn't exactly proven himself a violent mech. Come to think of it, Sam was reminded of the day Yellow brought them home, periodically checking on them with a definite but alien excitement evident on his metallic face.

Not that that was saying too much, realistically. The mech could've been unhinged, sadistic, had different mannerisms, or any number of things.

Flashy had been walking for perhaps ten or fifteen minutes, although it seemed a lot longer than that. Sam and Mikaela sat next to each other in one of the corners farthest from the mech, only occasionally looking back up at him. Mikaela had changed from stressed and frightened to stressed and mildly pissed off. It was barely detectable with her face buried in her arms, but Sam could tell. She had made a comment several minutes prior to the affect of, "I don't care what, but something better happen soon or I'm biting this guy's finger off."

They needn't have worried so much. Only a few minutes later there was a quiet beep. Although soft, it was loud enough to make Mikaela look up instantly. Flashy had stopped. When he started walking again, it was only a couple steps before the bluish black sky above them changed to a much closer, much darker metal lined with lights.

Flashy had likely reached wherever it was he had been heading.

The building was well-lit, whatever it happened to be. Bright enough, actually, that Flashy's strobe lights seemed dimmer when next he looked down at them and spoke.

"We're cool. We're fine, right?" he told and asked Mikaela, reaching out a hand and rubbing her upper arm.

"Well, we're definitely about to find out," she answered with just a touch of amusement.

The clangs of Flashy's feet against the newly metal floor echoed in an almost melodic way. However, after a few seconds, a recognizable blip of alien speech joined the echoes. Mikaela furrowed her eyebrows and looked over at Sam, and both looked up at Flashy. That hadn't sounded like what they'd heard from him, and its source did not sound close enough.

Flashy spoke quickly afterwards, in a different tone and definitely much nearer.

Oh no…

Sam and Mikaela shared looks of silent horror at the recognition of different voices. Wherever they had been brought, there was more than one mech present. The ceiling changed just slightly again, and the teens knew they were in yet another room. The strange voice was closer now, and yet another – much rougher sounding – string of alien notes had joined in the conversation.

Somewhere outside their relatively safe little box were two more strange aliens with intentions that no one knew.

The box they were in was jarred slightly, and Sam and Mikaela assumed they had been put down.

They didn't have to wait long before a yellowish robotic face loomed over them. Sam recoiled at the suddenness of it. The mech that had found them started talking a lot. At some point, a second mech – black and extremely frightening in appearance, who Sam instantly thought must have that rougher sounding voice – appeared above to glance down at them. He tried to shrink into the corner of the box, unsuccessfully. Evidently he had _not_ evolved the ability to go invisible in the last several minutes. Mikaela felt herself shivering.

All three aliens spoke, and there was a particularly sharp edge to the new yellow one's voice. It was odd to be able to sense such a thing, Mikaela distantly noted, but it seemed so obvious in the brisk endings to each fluent metallic sound. The humans shoved their hands out for balance as the box was yanked suddenly to one side. New Yellow looked purposefully down at them. Sam had no time to react as a yellowish hand descended and grabbed him, very little respect involved.

Wisely, Sam decided not to move. He instead hung limply and looked down at Mikaela. She was giving him a consoling look that was mixed with her own fright while New Yellow twisted him about and made Sam feel like a doll.

Sam twitched once as a smooth fingertip rested itself right between his shoulders and the mechs began talking again. New Yellow shifted suddenly, holding Sam further out from his body. It startled the boy but he did his best not to show it. Even when he was hastily turned around midair and forced to meet the alien's prying gaze, he said and did nothing, ignoring the somewhat uncomfortable fingers that were now pressing at him oddly.

What he wouldn't have paid to have his feet back on the ground.

The mechs talked again. Sam found himself shifted about until he was held in a cupped – much more comfortable – hand.

The big, black behemoth of a mech opposite New Yellow reached down into the box and pulled up Mikaela. The whole scene was reminiscent of a little kitten being picked up, especially since the mech had somehow worked her away from the side of the box and hooked his fingers around her shoulders from behind. In all, it didn't look like the nicest way to be held, but at the same time, not as unbearable as the way Purple and Green had held them…

Once more, the mechs conversed. The black mech repositioned Mikaela as they did so, seating her in one hand and tapping her head with a finger from the other. Sam winced as the girl flung her hands up, trying to fight away the unwanted prods. Black didn't act offended by the futile refusal. If anything, he looked entertained and continued his prodding. Off to the side, Flashy's strobe lights were flashing.

Sam's stomach gave a tiny flip since New Yellow decided to set him down. The teen was mutedly surprised that the mech supported him until he had his feet steady beneath him. He turned about confusedly, gauging the large room that looked something like a lab, and then looked up at the mech as it raised a finger to the side of its head. The thing's optics flashed and there was distinct whirring coming from its head components, but Sam didn't know what the mech could be doing. He stared at New Yellow curiously.

Several moments later, the mech nodded and took his finger away from his helm. New Yellow said something to Black, who responded and placed Mikaela onto the table top. Two of the mechs retreated out of the blue before New Yellow snatched them up and set them down on a different surface, this one with a large piece of machinery on it. New Yellow pointed sternly at them and had another mini-face off, to which Sam and Mikaela knew they had undoubtedly lost, and then turned his attention to the doohickey.

Sam gave Mikaela an incredulous look. Neither had the slightest clue what had just happened.

* * *

Wheeljack was already accessing the Ark's main door before it struck him that Ratchet might not want to deal with stray humans. He stole a peek at the male and female and mentally shrugged. No point in having doubts now. He shrugged it off and walked purposefully to the rec room, which was where he'd last seen the snippy medic.

When he was a couple hallways away, Ratchet must've heard his footsteps, because the medic called out, "_**I thought you were going home, 'Jack.**_"

"_**So did I,**_" he called back. A quick scan of the humans revealed that the noises and echoes were unsettling to them. "_**I've got something to show you and Ironhide.**_"

He quickened his pace and stepped into the rec room shortly after. Ratchet was hunched over some piece of medical equipment, Ironhide studying a mid-sized plasma cannon intently. Both turned their attentions to him upon his entrance. Neither – particularly Ratchet – looked impressed.

"_**What, they wouldn't take the box?**_" asked Ratchet, looking up from his drill for a moment only.

Since Ratchet had returned to his fiddling, Ironhide supplied, "_**That's hardly something worth coming back here to show us.**_"

"_**I didn't come back to show you the box, although I do think it's odd that Kickback didn't want it. But it turned out to be a fortunate thing in the end, because I put something in it,**_" said the engineer, smiling like a youngling who had found an energon goodie stash (despite the fact that Ratchet was no longer paying him much attention and Ironhide's had strayed back to his weapon). "_**You're not gonna believe what crossed my path on the way home.**_"

Ironhide crossed his arms and glared at Wheeljack. "_**If that's another turbo-rat, I swear I'm not talking to you again for an orn.**_"

The engineer placed the box down on the table in the center of the room so he could wave a hand dismissively. "_**Oh, just because you didn't realize it was in your room and it scared the spark out of you…**_" In the background, Ironhide muttered something pertaining to the falsity of that statement. "_**This isn't a turbo-rat. It's humans!**_"

Ratchet pulled away from his drill, spinning around on his stool as if Sideswipe had run by and thrown something at him. Ironhide blinked audibly. "_**It's **_**what?**" demanded Ratchet, standing not a second later.

"_**Humans,**_" Wheeljack repeated, nodding, as Ratchet made his way over. "_**Two of them. See?**_" Ratchet reached the table and looked down into the box. Sure enough, two humans – one male, one female – were sitting in the box, looking right back at him. They looked quite scared.

Ratchet narrowed his optics and looked over at Wheeljack. The engineer quickly explained that he had been heading home and they had run out in front of him and hidden behind an energon distiller. He told them how he thought it would be unwise to just let them run around without someone with them, and how he had fished them out, and how he'd decided the Ark would be better for them than his own home, so that had led him right back here. During the explanation, Ironhide came over and studied the aliens.

"_**Do they not have owners?**_" Ironhide questioned.

Wheeljack shrugged. "_**I didn't see any bands on them, and there was no one around.**_"

"_**What about chips?**_"

Wheeljack was about to answer an immediate no, but he paused. He looked at Ratchet questioningly. The CMO gave a withering sound.

"_**You glitch, you didn't check to see if they were microchipped? Primus, where have you been? Let me see one of them,**_" said the medic huffily. He pulled the box closer to him, not particularly caring that the aliens shook from the abruptness of it. Ratchet wasted no preamble and grabbed up the male. It stayed stone still in his grasp as he scanned it. "_**He **_**does**_** have a microchip, right between the shoulder blades on his back, just where they **_**always**_** go.**_" He turned the human about and pointed to the injection site, glaring at Wheeljack again for good measure.

He shifted the animal in his hand and studied its back. "_**Now, let's see who's missing a pet…**_" Ratchet accessed the microchip's standard viewer frequency and scanned its contents for all of a fraction of a second. Then he pulled his head further back, as if physically hit. He turned the human back around to look it in the face.

"_**Well? Whose is he?**_" Wheeljack pressed, anticipation building at his ex-comrade's reaction.

The medic stared the fleshy creature down in disbelief. "_**He's… Bumblebee's,**_" Ratchet said, shock still evident in his voice. What the frag were the odds of that? And what was a pet who assumedly lived with Bee doing so far from home?

Ironhide, who had been about to check the female, paused. "_**Bee's got a pet human? I wasn't told.**_"

"_**Neither was I. He might even have two. Who does the female belong to?**_" Ratchet asked quickly. He again changed his hold on the human, being much gentler now that he knew whose pet he was handling.

Ironhide took the female into his grasp with exceptional care and scanned her over. "_**Yeah, looks like Bee's got himself the making of a family of humans. She's his, too. Fraggers are a little far from home, ain't they?**_" There was a strange affection added to the not-normally-endearing nickname 'fraggers.'

Ratchet looked from one human to the other. "_**I suppose that we had better get in contact with Bumblebee, then.**_"

The two other ex-Autobots nodded. Ironhide was now amusing himself by tapping the female on the head and dodging her flailing arms when she tried to brush him away. Ratchet set the male down on the table and raised a hand to his own head.

_**/ Bumblebee. /**_

There was a slight hesitation before, _**/ Yes, Ratchet? / **_

The medic smirked. _**/ What are you doing right now? /**_

_**/ Freaking out a bit. I've been looking for my pets for more than a joor now. My roommates did something with them, I'm sure of it. /**_

Aw, poor Bumblebee. He did sound like he was mightily stressed. Ratchet would've expected no less care from the mech. He glanced down at the two organics. _**/ You lost a human? /**_

_**/ Yes; two, / **_he admitted sorrowfully, unable to hide the anger behind it.

_**/ You can stop freaking out, youngling. I'm looking at your male as we speak. / **_

There was another hesitation, this one probably from disbelief. _**/ You found Signal? / **_the ex-scout asked, hope and relief flooding his transmission.

_**/ Both, actually. Wheeljack brought them in. Says they ran across his path and hid from him, but he caught them. He didn't think to check if they were microchipped. We just found out they were yours not half a breem ago. / **_Ratchet noted an odd expression on Signal's face.

_**/ They're both with you, right now? /**_ Bumblebee asked. His incredulity was heavy.

_**/ Yes. / **_

_**/ They're not hurt, are they? Please tell me they're not injured. / **_

_**/ No, /**_ Ratchet told him. He couldn't help but be proud that Bumblebee was worried about whether or not the humans were injured. _**/ The two of them are perfectly safe. A little frightened – shell-shocked, perhaps – but physically unharmed as far as I can tell. /**_

The relief really was palpable. _**/ Oh, thank Primus. I'll be there in a couple breems. /**_

Ratchet gave the affirmative and closed the connection. The male was still looking at him oddly. The medic shuttered his optics and tilted his head challengingly, silently warning the creature that it was not about to win some dominance match against him; the human blinked and averted his eyes. With a gentle shake of his head, Ratchet ignored it.

"_**Bee's on his way here. He should be about a breem or two,**_" he relayed to the group.

"_**And, uh…**_" Ironhide stopped tapping Complement atop the head and placed her down on the table, too. "_**What are we doing with these guys in the mean time?**_" He left his hand rested on the table edge and drummed his fingers along it absentmindedly. He missed the serious looks the two humans were giving his fingers, but Wheeljack and Ratchet didn't.

"_**I guess we're playing pet-sitters. At least they **_**seem**_** well enough behaved.**_" Ratchet pat the stationary male about the head, earning what he thought to be a very suspicious-looking expression.

Wheeljack excused himself to go get a few blueprints he could look over while they waited for Bumblebee. Ironhide, reluctantly, moved away from the humans and back to the weapon he had been altering and cleaning. With a sigh from his vents, Ratchet took the two humans in hand and carried them back to his work station.

The medic placed them off to the side against a stack of boxed up spare parts. He withdrew has hands and pointed at the creatures who stared at him in fixation. "_**Now you two stay put. Do you understand me?**_" The response he received was the female scooting closer to Signal. "_**Good.**_"

Ratchet cautiously returned to the task at hand.

The room grew quiet after that. All signs of the previous excitement died away since the two humans were careful not to make nuisances of themselves.

About one and three-quarters of a breem later, hastened steps rattling throughout the empty hallways of the Ark carried all the way to the recreation room turned workspace. The three mechs present exchanged glances and turned to the doorway. Even the two humans looked around when they heard the rushed sounds.

Bumblebee appeared in the doorframe quickly enough, bracing a hand against it.

"_**Where are they? Where?**_" Bumblebee asked immediately. His optics were scanning around the room incessantly, searching for his missing pets but coming up short.

Ratchet gestured just to his right – the side of a box that Bumblebee couldn't see behind from where he stood. The mech moved around the room quickly, walking around the main table and coming up on Ratchet from the opposite side. Sure enough, Signal and Complement huddled side by side. They had probably been watching Ratchet work (Ratchet let them that close to his work?). Bee's systems squeaked in happiness.

"_**Primus, you're both alright!**_" he exclaimed, stepping around the medic and quickly snatching up Signal. He cuddled the human close to his spark, his relief taking form as a purr-like rumble. "_**I'll dismantle those guys for throwing you out, I promise**__,_" Bee declared. He set Signal down and grabbed Complement before he even realized whom he was grabbing, by which point it was too late anyway. That the female did not protest spoke volumes. He cuddled her even closer than he had Signal, hoping to reassure her, assuming she would recover slower from whatever trauma his roommates had caused the two humans.

"_**Wheeljack, thank you so much! I was starting to worry that I'd never see them again, or that they had been killed already…**_"

"_**It was no problem, Bee,**_" Wheeljack shrugged it off, happy to see the ex-scout so happy. "_**Might've helped some if you had told us you bought yourself a set of humans, though,**_" he threw in as a side note.

Bee paused. He gently put Complement back in her place. Signal embraced her, and the pair of them simply looked from mech to mech, trying to follow their exchange. "_**It's not like I was trying not to tell you.**_" He glanced around at Wheeljack, Ratchet, and Ironhide, all in turn. "_**I just… forgot. But yes, these are my humans… the male's name is Signal, and the female's is Complement, though you already know that. I've had them going on a couple orns now. They're both very nice companions.**_"

"_**They seem it,**_" conceded Ratchet, which was saying something.

Ironhide set the cannon down and straightened up. "_**You say Maul 'n Tiptop are the reason they're out and about?**_"

The smallish yellow mech gave a strong nod. He was going right to the enforcers when he was done here. "_**They're the only way Complement and Signal could have gotten out – they can't reach any of the windows, and the door was locked. Which means those two were breaking and entering, technically, and definitely stealing someone else's property the moment they took these guys without my permission,**_" Bee explained. His voice dropped with infrequently used ire. "_**Besides, it's not the first time they did something like this, though I guess that makes it partially my fault. Not that long ago they broke in and were harassing my humans – they might have taken them then if I hadn't stopped them. I'm requesting they be forced to transfer housing the first chance I get.**_"

Ironhide growled some barely intelligible curse about the 'ex'-Decepticons both individually and as a faction.

Ratchet butted in with a mocking voice, "_**Now, now, 'Hide. You know the factions don't exist anymore.**_"

Although the old, ex-front liner had to have known his friend was joking, he didn't act like it. He responded with, "_**Slag those agreements – Starscream is still out there somewhere and the Decepticons haven't changed, 'ex' or not. They're planning something, I'm telling ya,**_" he bit out. "_**Bee's not the only case of Cons seeming to ignore that pretend treaty.**_"

Bumblebee had the distinct sense that Ratchet and Ironhide had this conversation often, and, given the way Wheeljack responded, the engineer must have also been a frequent converser.

"_**We can say it all we want, but there's nothing anyone can do until we find Starscream or solid evidence. It's pointless looking to instigate anything,**_" said Wheeljack, a bit flippantly for the topic.

"_**Screamer's a strutless coward who's probably solar systems away. He'd never allow himself to get caught and tried,**_" Ironhide muttered.

Bee whistled, drawing attention to him. As he carefully picked up Signal and Complement to bring them to the center table with him, he added, "_**Mechs are always whispering about him hiding out on Earth. Maybe you could pay these guys' home planet a visit and hunt him down in your spare time?**_" Bee settled his humans down on the table and pulled up one of Ratchet's stools alongside Wheeljack.

"_**If there's any merit to those rumors and Prime's not acting on them,**_" warned Ironhide, "_**First thing I'm doing is getting myself to Iacon or Kaon or wherever he's staying,**_" and Wheeljack offhandedly confirmed that Optimus was currently in Iacon, "_**and smacking him upside the helm like I used to when he was a youngling.**_"

Obviously someone was still miffed that Optimus Prime hadn't allowed for the much-deserved executions of the Decepticons that had been captured at the onset of the ceasefire. More than a few mechs, ex-Autobot and ex-Neutrals alike, had been either outright awed or irritated that Prime still refused unnecessary violence even when a mech like Shockwave had been caught.

Most of the ranking Cons had fled when the ceasefire was called following Megatron's disappearance. To date, the ranks of only Shockwave, Skywarp, Thundercracker, and the Constructicons had been officially apprehended. All others had gotten off because they hadn't really committed any overly horrible atrocities that overruled the asylum granted by the ceasefire. Even Thundercracker and Skywarp, and particularly the former, had proven quite docile in the few vorns worth of peace. Since they had mostly been taken in due to their close ties with Starscream – and it had become apparent that even they were uncertain as to his location or plans – there were whisperings that Prime was going to let them free in the near future.

Bumblebee was torn about the issue, personally. He was glad and impressed that Optimus wasn't about to lower his standards even now, but could also identify with wanting the mechs offlined for what they and their comrades had done during the war.

The ex-scout rubbed Signal's and Complement's sides in an attempt to distract himself.

"_**Hate them as you well deserve to,**_" Ratchet conceded, "_**but Optimus's servos are tied either way. We have their explorers to thank for discovering Earth and its resources.**_"

"_**And Bee wouldn't have his pets right now if it weren't for them,**_" added Wheeljack with a smile and a flash from his indicators. "_**You really should try and contain yourself during this peace, however temporary it could wind up being. At least our society got something good out of them after all, right?**_"

Ironhide refused to openly agree, but knew better than to disagree. They all still held deep seeded aversions for the ex-Decepticons and contempt for those that were in hiding. He instead gestured at Bumblebee and his two humans. "_**I'm surprised you didn't tell us about them the last time you were here.**_"

Bee continued his toying, but nodded consentingly. "_**I can't believe I forgot to. I love these little guys. I don't remember what could've made me not bring them up.**_"

"_**You should bring 'em by more often,**_" Ironhide said. "_**Been considering getting one myself,**_" he admitted at length. Wheeljack's fins flickered dimly with disbelief. "_**Not that seriously or anything, but either way.**_"

Ratchet spoke up, "_**What possessed you to get a male and female at the same time, anyway? Were you hoping to start your own flock?**_"

"_**Pack,**_" murmured Wheeljack.

"_**I thought it was a herd?**_" Ironhide posited with sincere confusion.

Bumblebee shook his head. "_**I think it's just 'a group of humans,' honestly.**_"

"_**Regardless,**_" snapped Ratchet, lacking true interest in what a gathering of the bipedal organics was appropriately labeled.

Bee clicked, looking quite innocent as he gave a semi-shrug. "_**I never planned on actively getting them to breed. It's just that when I went to go buy them, and I was first just going to get Signal, I noticed he had a really strong connection to Complement. When Dropkick confirmed they'd been captured at the same time, it wasn't that hard to guess that they'd probably been a mated pair back on Earth. I wasn't about to separate them from one another on top of everything that had to have happened to them in the previous cycles.**_"

"_**Is she carrying yet?**_" inquired Ratchet. It had suddenly hit him that, through Bumblebee, he had easy access to human subjects of both genders, which would allow him to start taking his own, first hand notes about the Earthlings. It went without saying that he'd read up on the – comparatively – limited information regarding human physiology, but nothing beat first hand exposure.

The ex-scout shook his head. "_**They apparently aren't too big on mating when they live close to mechs. Probably sense it wouldn't be the safest environment for sparklings.**_" He crooned quietly and lowered his head to the table and rested it there, optic-level with his two pets. Bee was elated that neither so much as flinched at the proximity from him anymore. "_**But I'd never hurt any of your offspring, you know that,**_" he told Complement, petting her even more affectionately.

"_**Would you be willing to let me observe them in the future to take measurements and recordings, to add to my knowledge stores of human physiology?**_" asked Ratchet.

Bee raised his optics to look at him, though he didn't lift his head from the table. "_**Not invasively?**_"

"_**Of course not,**_" said Ratchet. "_**I'm not about to violate your pets, Bumblebee.**_"

"_**Yeah, who do you think he is? Wheeljack?**_" Ironhide chuckled.

Wheeljack gave a beep of protest, and insisted that Perceptor was ten times more likely than he to do something like that to a human. Everyone had to concede on that one.

Bee smiled a bit, quite glad to be spending time with his old teammates again. "_**Then sure. Once I know they're okay after whatever it was Tiptop and Maul did to them, I'll bring them over for visits.**_"

All mechs present seemed pleased with that idea. It grew quiet after that. Bumblebee felt a wave of tenderness wash over him when Complement and then Signal curled up against the hand he had just laid flat on the table top.

"_**So,**_" Wheeljack said, aiming to break the silence and deciding that staying here would be a much better use of his time – and much more entertaining – than heading home, "_**Anyone know what Prowl's been up to lately?**_"

Oh yes, mused Bee, he was more than lucky to get to have a reunion with his humans and his ex-comrades at the same time.

"_**Well, the last I heard, he was split between helping the enforcers, helping Prime, and monitoring some local aspects of problematic human situations, specifically…**_"

* * *

**A.N. **- Thanks for reading, and until next time, remember – reviews make the world go 'round.

In retrospect, I noticed the events of this chapter really only take place over about 1.5, maybe 2 hours, so it being a quick read makes sense. I hope it seemed more interesting/informative than any normal 1.5/2 hour stretch, though…

Plus, let's play another guessing game. Anyone care to wager who the next _human_ you'll probably be seeing is? Since I'm still playing around a little with some story details (where/when certain things happen), this familiar human could be appearing anywhere in the next few chapters.


	7. Expanding Your Horizons

**Title: **Property Of

**Rating: **T

**Summary:** During Cybertronian 'peace,' ex-Cons hide the sentience of and sell humans as pets to secure Earth. Sam and Mikaela might just be the first to grasp the reality of the situation alongside their new owner.

**Chapter:** Expanding Your Horizons

I don't know why, but this chapter did not want to be written. It tried valiantly to take me down in the process. I personally feel that it's not the best as a result… Probably stems from the fact that practically all of the content in this is setup... albeit setup with some fluff. Feel free to critique if you so desire.

An 'average' day in the life of a mech and his humans. Please attempt to enjoy… and to find my typos. :)

* * *

True to his word, Bumblebee contacted the enforcers the moment he got home, which was about half a joor after he had first arrived at the Ark. He used the spare box Wheeljack had to carry his humans home in, helped them out of it and showed them to their food, and after offering Beachcomber a few words of explanation – the mech had arrived not long before he had, and was confused to find absolutely no one home – he hailed the enforcers' frequency.

Bee was scarcely into his story before the mech on the other end of the communications line interrupted him.

_**/ Maul and Tiptop? I kid you not, /**_ the unknown mech said, just a bit too unaffected for Bumblebee's preferences, _**/ Nightflight just saw them out of here not too much more than a joor ago. Hang on – I'll switch you over to his personal frequency…/**_

Bumblebee stared off dully as the line comm. link went briefly dead. He looked down at Signal while he waited. Between bites of food the human was making a funny face at him that Bee didn't even know how to begin to interpret.

It took a little while before Nightflight connected to the radio frequency. When he did, Bumblebee focused all of his attention on the conversation and explained, as calmly as possible, his grievances. Nightflight recognized him quickly enough from previous incidents, apologized, and after speaking for a couple breems conceded that he may have been the reason Maul and Tiptop had abandoned the humans. Apparently Nightflight had thought the accused mechs had been carrying something, but when he apprehended them, they held nothing – the Enforcer thought it likely that the two ex-Cons had left the humans then, unwilling to be approached while handling 'stolen property.'

Nightflight – just as calmly – explained potential proceedings and reassured Bumblebee that while pressing charges could prove fruitless, since he doubted the existence of hard evidence, the forced housing change request could probably be met.

_**/ If not for your complaint, then for another, /**_ the Enforcer had told him dryly.

After speaking for a few breems more about what to expect in that regard, and promising for a follow-up call within the next cycle, Bumblebee thanked the mech for making such quick work of the situation and switched off his communications systems. Bee supposed that was good enough for now. The ex-scout quickly summarized what he'd been told for Beachcomber's benefit.

By now tangled up in their comforting fabrics, Signal and Complement were starting to make their sleepy noises. The yellow mech trilled apologetically. "_**Yeah, you guys have had a rough day.**_" Now that he thought about it, his own processors were pleading to be allowed at least a short recharge. Bee looked at his roommate. "_**Would you mind if I took them with me to go recharge?**_"

"_**No, you all need it,**_" Beachcomber said gently. "_**Don't worry about it. If you're not up within a joor, though, I'll probably be gone. Gotta catch the right shuttle ship to Cybertron.**_" The pacifist grinned when Bumblebee started. He'd obviously forgotten about that upcoming trip. "_**I'll say hello to the old crew for you, if I see any of them.**_"

Bumblebee returned the grin. "_**Thanks.**_" He oh-so-carefully worked his hands under and around the fabric, using it to encase his two tired humans and safely pick them up for transport. They both grew much more alert at the sudden motion, but calmed when they realized they were still safe. "_**You're a true friend.**_"

Beachcomber gave his best nonchalant shrug, although the effect was somewhat ruined by his comical expression. "_**I try.**_"

Pets in hand, Bee went to his quarters. Once he had softly placed his humans down at the edge of his berth, where they had easy and quick access to their favorite, sheltered sleeping spot, the ex-scout sprawled out.

He had a feeling this recharge would feel ten times better than normal given the stressful cycle it followed.

* * *

Bumblebee was pleased to be able to report that, precisely one half orn after the petnapping, Nightflight confirmed that Maul and Tiptop were being reassigned to a different housing unit. That the aforementioned housing unit was practically on the other side of the colony was just coincidental as far as legalities went. Bee hoped that he'd never have to see either of those menaces again… If they knew what was good for them, they wouldn't want to see him again, either.

The yellow mech was relieved to conclude that nothing overly traumatic had happened to either Signal or Complement during their 'adventures.' Beyond being a little more trusting around him, nothing much had changed. They still enjoyed the treats he gave them, still tolerated – even enjoyed – his attention, and all other manners of normal behavior.

Two cycles after confirmation that the ex-Cons were being transferred, Bumblebee received a message from Ratchet requesting that the smaller mech have a maintenance exam performed (and a subtle hint that he wanted to take preliminary scans of Signal and Complement).

Since there was a window of spare time, Bee promised to come over once he was done with the last bits of filing Nightflight wanted him to help with.

… Which brought him to where he was presently: sitting at his desk, two datapads laid next to one another, a recently emptied energon cube at the furthest corner, several spare cogs and a rag to one side, and his humans enjoying themselves atop the blankets that he had made sure to put back precisely in their place.

"_**Don't you worry. If you haven't figured it out already, Ratchet's not a bad mech, no matter how much growling he does,**_" Bee absently told Complement and Signal. He didn't know whether or not they were actually listening, and he wasn't about to find out due to his focus on completing the forms accurately, but he didn't really care. "_**I think he**_ _**said he had something for you, too.**_"

Bumblebee continued to read and respond to the written inquiries while occasionally making comments or asking rhetorical questions of the seemingly uninterested humans.

Perhaps a quarter breem after he pointed out that organics were lucky not to have to deal with paper work, Bumblebee felt a soft, repeated, almost tickling sensation against his right foot. The mech hesitated before looking down. The smile that claimed his faceplates was unpreventable.

Signal was pushing against his armor, using one of his arms to continually poke at the silvery metal available to him.

"_**Can I help you?**_" joked Bee, twisting to get a better look.

* * *

Sam and Mikaela had gone through the last couple weeks – because it had been going on two weeks, now, since they'd been stolen and ditched – in something of a daze. They were surprised at how quickly things returned to normal. Experiencing the fright of too much activity made them realize just how bearable monotony actually was in the long run.

That was not to say that either teenager particularly _liked_ monotony. Especially Sam. Accordingly, despite the general pleasantness with which the time had passed, Sam was willing to try something new.

… Which brought him to where he was presently: sitting up in the comfy fabric, calculating Yellow's position at the desk, and defending the legitimacy of his plan in the face of his girlfriend's incredulity.

"Why would you want to pester _any_ mech, Sam?" Mikaela probed. Anyone who didn't know her might have thought she was trying to dissuade Sam. Anyone who did know her would have known she was actually, seriously confused. "You don't know what mood he's in."

"Is he ever in a bad mood?" Sam asked her right back.

Mikaela blinked, forced to pause but not defeated. "No, but that's not the point. Being a complacent pet is one thing. Trying to reinvent the meaning of 'domestication' is another." She laughed once as she eyed her boyfriend, who mockingly adopted the famous puppy-eyed look. He shook it off once Mikaela was quiet.

"That's not what I'm doing at all. This is the fun part. Er… fun being loosely defined here. _I_ think it's sort of fun." Suddenly, maybe intentionally, Sam looked unsure of himself. "…It is fun, isn't it?"

Whether or not the display was meant to be humorous, Mikaela was highly unconvinced. "I don't know if I see the fun in it or not. I've mostly gotten over the pet thing, you know I have – Yellow seems like a good enough giant invading robot, we have no problems with him personally. But even fully accepting our fates as household pets, why seek it out? Why try and push borders when you don't have to? Pointless borders, at least." Mikaela shrugged slightly.

Sam mimicked the gesture. "Because I'm not really worried that Yellow's going to hurt either of us no matter what we do." The name 'Softie' was clearly applicable to both mechs who lived in this part of the building. "And maybe it's the geeky boy in me, but I find it cool to be able to get that close to a mech that I just sort of know isn't about to go postal on me. You get to be completely free and whatever, and he's not going to be any the wiser." He grinned. "We could run around in the nude screaming profanities and the aliens would be completely unconcerned." Sam paused to collect himself while Mikaela arched her eyebrows. "It's like… the being under lock and key thing actually comes with a small bit of freedom. Do what you want – I'm going to go see if he'll let me up on his desk so I can screw around with stuff and get into mischief. Gotta seal the bond between pet and owner," Sam told her, dramatically pressing his hands together with a smirk.

True to his word, Sam proceeded to walk over to the base of the stool-thing that Yellow was seated upon. Mikaela narrowed her eyes as her boyfriend didn't just pause and wait to be noticed, but actively moved against the mech's foot, tapping it and leaning on the much larger form.

Yellow glanced down after a second. He studied Sam in silence, and Sam paid the mech relatively little heed and continued to pester the foot until he got the reaction he wanted – Yellow eventually reached down and picked him up. Mikaela watched as Sam was set on the desktop, just barely in view from her current position.

Then, like a magnet, Yellow looked around at her. He leaned over and drummed his fingers invitingly on the ground. The girl hesitated.

Yellow was asking her if she wanted to come up with Sam.

Suddenly, Mikaela had an inexplicable and childish urge to join them.

Startling even herself, Mikaela hurried forward to the mech's waiting hands. She was carefully lifted and deposited on the desk top, several feet away from Sam.

"Glad you could join us," he greeted victoriously.

Rolling her eyes playfully, she gave him a little shove; she received one in kind. "Okay then, Mister Adventurous. What now?" Yellow had blinked at their interaction, and was now watching them with palpable curiosity.

"Rag." Sam pointed at the rag in question. Mikaela almost retorted with a 'duh,' but decided that wasn't needed. "I wonder if he'll let us make a fort with it…"

* * *

It wasn't long after the two humans were together on the desk top that they began to push at one another. Bee, who had never seen either of them act violently, was a little surprised. However, they had scarcely started before they finished. He'd been granted just enough time to become intrigued, but with no answer as to what prompted the behavior. In retrospect, he assumed they had just been playing with one another.

Signal studiously mapped the foreign surface with those strange eyes of his. Complement seemed to growl something at him, after which he moved purposefully toward the rag. The female traced his steps. The ex-scout chuckled once as Complement crawled under the folds of the fabric and disappeared beneath it. The sound of his amused, vibrating gears made Signal give him a once over before disappearing after Complement.

Bumblebee observed his two pets for a little while longer. The rag occasionally shifted about to accommodate the humans, though Bee had no clue just what they were doing under there. Eventually he turned his attention back to the datapads, content to let Signal and Complement amuse themselves while he finished.

He was reading and signing for about a breem more when his optics caught on sudden movement towards the upper portion of the pad. Bee glanced towards the source.

Signal, free from the rag, had situated himself right at the edge of the data screen. He was studying the panel and the glyphs displayed on it further down. A peek to the side revealed that Complement was half under and half free from the cloth, her focus on them unwavering.

"_**Save yourself and avoid these things,**_" Bumblebee advised with a nod. "_**You shouldn't have to deal with them unless absolutely necessary. Tell your mate for me, Complement; make him see reason,**_" he looked to the female and asked of her. Neither human moved, but they did stare at him.

The mech shifted tiredly. He extended a hand and rubbed Signal affectionately. "_**It's very sweet of you two to want to keep me company.**_"

As the ex-Autobot withdrew his hand, the edge of an armor sheet accidentally knocked against Signal. Even unintentional, the casual force was enough to make the human jump suddenly and fall forward. Signal didn't try hard enough to balance himself and toppled over, having to fling his hands out in front of his body to catch himself on the screen of the data pad.

"_**Oh!**_" Bee exclaimed, sitting upright and then leaning forward in concern. Complement, too, pulled herself entirely out from under her hideaway and made noises obviously directed at the male. The unsettled human didn't respond. "_**I'm sorry, Signal! I didn't mean to push you.**_" He was uncertain whether or not he should set the organic back upright. "_**Are you alright?**_"

Signal, however, wasn't interested in getting back up – at least not completely. The human started to sit back up, and Bumblebee became quite concerned when he stopped, only partially raised and supporting most of his weight on his extended arms. Had he injured Signal? Maybe it was a good thing he was planning on taking them to Ratchet – Ratchet could help fix any injury, surely.

But no, Bee quickly realized, Signal wasn't injured. He was transfixed by the faint, whitish-green imprint his hands left on the screen. The human lifted one hand clear of the screen and studied it, then placed it back down and did the same with the other hand.

"_**Oh. Right. See?**_" Bumblebee ran the tip of his smallest finger on the screen after he exited out of the important data, but he grabbed up the much more efficient scribing rod a moment later for accuracy. The organic male watched him with intensity. "_**If you apply heat – with pressure, I suppose, although our idea of gentle is probably a lot different than yours – datapads are good for writing on.**_" Bee doodled a quick glyph. Complement hastily came over and seated herself at the edge of the datapad, too. Signal stared at it like he was in rapture. Smiling, Bumblebee offered, "_**Here, I'll give you your own pad.**_"

Signal jumped – as did Complement – when Bee pulled another pad out of his subspace. He placed the object next to his own two and used his other hand to slide his two pets to the completely blank expanse of screen.

It took the humans a moment to realize that they were being given the device for their own entertainment. When they did, Signal motioned with his head for Complement to come forward. Bumblebee watched in amusement as Signal climbed onto the datapad, lowered his left arm to the pad and leaned his full weight onto it, then made two dots and a curvy arc below them. After a second, he surrounded the three items in a shaky circle. Complement studied the green markings and mimicked Signal's technique, adding another circle above the first, this one with several squiggles coming from it in various directions.

"_**There you go. Express yourself and let me finish up. We don't want to keep Ratchet waiting all cycle, do we? He'd know better than to hit you with something, but I'm not so sure about me,**_" Bumblebee confided. So, while Signal and Complement chattered and maneuvered around the screen making doodles and markings, Bumblebee returned to the forms.

Two and a half breems later and the last required signature was in place. Bumblebee smiled triumphantly and beeped at his humans. In the short time they had managed to cover nearly the whole screen with their funny doodles and strange, tiny scribbles set row after row, almost systematically at some points.

When his pets stopped and looked at him, he told them, "_**Curious, you two,**_" and respectfully picked them up to set them away from the datapad. He saved the screen – under the watchful eyes of his alien companions – and placed the pad in a drawer. With another beep, he stood. "_**Time to go visit the old mechs.**_"

From a different drawer Bee fished out the abandoned and folded up carrier that he'd gotten from Dropkick a few orns ago. Somehow, it seemed like only just last cycle, and yet ages ago, that he'd first brought Signal and Complement home. He felt like he'd had the pair of them with him for vorns, not the scant couple of orns they had really spent together.

"_**I bet you'll like this means of travel better than those purple and green Pitspawn,**_" Bee said, straightening the carrier out and making sure it was once again structurally stable. Once he was confident in it, he ushered his confused humans inside. They didn't resist much. "_**If the Ark was closer, and I knew how you responded to being outdoors, I might let you follow me,**_" chatted Bee idly while he closed up the carrier and gently lifted it into his arms to cradle against his chassis, "_**but you'd probably tire yourself out if you tried walking there, and I don't want you running off. You'll have to suffer the carrier for now.**_"

Bumblebee sent a blip of nondescript data to Ratchet and Ironhide, with the implication that he was just leaving. He received two return messages, confirming that the mechs knew he was coming and were 'prepared…' whatever that meant.

Single-minded determination to travel without complication set Bee on his walk to the Ark with confidence.

This time out with his caged humans, Bumblebee was less concerned about hiding them from the world with his frame. Complement and Signal were appreciative. They held onto the steady bars and peered out at the streets and buildings around them with fascination. Bumblebee hadn't considered the possibility before now, but what if the humans hadn't been traumatized by their being outside? What if they had grown to _like_ it outside?

That was one thing that Bee might have to deny his pets. They certainly seemed fascinated by the street life, sizing up every mech that they passed and always appearing startled if they happened to spot another human. Still, Bumblebee wasn't going to risk their safety for fleeting moments of happiness, assuming that that was indeed why they appeared to like traveling so much.

He sincerely hoped they could be taught and trusted to follow him if he allowed them outside.

Bumblebee heard a gathering of mechs, members from both ex-factions present if optic color could be trusted, discussing something or other about Optimus and the colony. While Bee was instantly curious, he didn't stop to find out more. He'd just make a mental note to ask Ironhide and Ratchet if they knew anything.

After several breems of very purposeful walking, the Ark could finally be spotted. At first, its presence made no difference. Yet, the closer they got, Signal and Complement's noise-making grew lower in tone and their attention shifted undividedly to the large, immobile ship.

Intrigued by the change, Bee asked, "_**What? Do you remember this place, or are you just impressed by the size?**_" To a mech, the Ark was impressively large. To a human it had to rank as enormous. Bumblebee discreetly received admittance and didn't even have to slow down his pace before entering the ship.

Once inside, the two humans became completely silent. Bumblebee kept ahead until he came across the rec. room turned work station. The yellow mech knew he'd have to make a jibe eventually – asking with just the right mix of innocence and mockery – about whether or not his ex-teammates ever really left that room.

"_**We're back! Did you miss us?**_" Bee announced his presence cheerily, stepping around the doorway. Ratchet was reading through a datapad, Ironhide sharpening a metallic file against one of his joints. The brightness of the greeting made Ironhide blink and Ratchet set the pad down and hold his head higher. The former straightened in his seat, the later spun around on his stool to face the center table instead of his counter.

"_**Like a rust infection,**_" replied the medic, very straight-faced. If he hadn't smirked shortly after, he might've been mistaken as being serious.

They went through their cursory greetings and polite questions about well-being for a moment. Ratchet eventually just waved the smaller mech over. "_**Ironhide wants to give your weapons their maintenance first.**_" The black mech nodded at the mention, tapping against one of his cannons demonstratively. "_**So if you don't mind, I'll take this time to gather up your humans' stats.**_"

Bumblebee held the carrier out a fraction and gave it a once over. "_**Uh, okay then. Just be careful with them.**_" Bee offered the carrier to the CMO.

"_**As if I wouldn't be anyways,**_" Ratchet said while he grasped the carrier securely and set it on the table. He opened the contraption and began to shake the organics out. When they got the hint, they pretty much exited the carrier on their own. Bee trilled a brief farewell to them and stepped to the other side of the room where Ironhide was waiting to discuss his dormant weapons with him.

Ratchet began with the male. He semi-coaxed, semi-brushed Signal into one of his hands and held him just off of the ground to get a measurement of mass and weight – taking into account, of course, the projected weight and mass of the body coverings. Next he pressed a finger to Signal's front and back, firm, so that the soft beats of the organic's heart could be felt, counted, and recorded. The longer Ratchet held the human like that, the quicker the pace of the beating. Ratchet surmised it was a stress response and finished that task as soon as possible.

The medic set Signal back down and curled a hand around him, shielding away the rest of the room and unwanted data. Unsurprisingly, the human didn't seem so sure about that and began to look around as if contemplating escape. He became even more uncertain when Ratchet changed the setting of his optics for an electrical scan and they turned an appropriate yellow-green.

"_**Hmm… very interesting,**_" he spoke to himself. Ratchet could abstractly map the general currents of a mech's systems over the pathways of the human's. The entire small body was alight with faint but definite electrical signals, all originating from the organism's comparatively very active brain. The organ must have served a combination of the duties of a mech's spark and processors, it seemed. Ratchet wondered if maybe a precisely calibrated magnetic pulse would have the same numbing, paralyzing effect on humans that it had on mechs. "_**I highly doubt Bumblebee would appreciate me testing that hypothesis on you.**_"

"_**What hypothesis?**_" called Bee warily from the other side of the room.

Ratchet looked up, giving Signal a chance to calm some. "_**Their systems seem dictated by electrical charges just as ours do. I was wondering if magnetic pulses could have similar effects on them, supposing they were calibrated correctly.**_"

Ironhide snidely threw in, "_**Leave the science experiments to Wheeljack, will ya?**_"

With a roll of his optics, Ratchet changed settings again. He took several temperature scans and mapped a virtual three-dimensional image of the human for future reference. He satisfied himself with all the basic information and then moved on to repeat the process with Complement. She responded with just the same level of comfort as her mate, no more and no less. Although now was not the time, he was particularly interested in the female's reproductive systems and capabilities – his acute chemical sensors identified a greater, more intricate variety of hormones in her than they had in the male, and the medical scientist in him was thrilled by the prospects.

Ratchet had returned to studying Signal, pleased with how accommodating the human was being by allowing the medic to hold one of his arms out and study it, when Bumblebee came to sit by the table. Ironhide announced that he was going to go get another plasma regulator for Bee's cannon and excused himself from the room with a huff. Signal and Complement both twisted their heads slightly to glance at their returning owner.

"_**Done already?**_" queried Ratchet, still intent on trying to map the anatomy and functionality of the limb without the ability to dissect it. And no, there was no disappointment in his voice.

"_**Weapons maintenance isn't all that hard when you're not using them,**_" Bumblebee explained plainly. "_**Other than replacing the temperature regulator for that cannon, I think Ironhide's done with me.**_" He nodded questioningly at his pet, who looked awkward standing there with his arm held out to the side. "_**What are you doing?**_"

The medic exhaled through his vents, accidentally bathing the humans with the heated air. Complement pulled her head back a little and closed her eyes, and Signal raised a hand to mess with his hair. Bumblebee twittered his delight. "_**If they ever get injured, knowing just what their norms are – their temperatures, bodily processes, anatomical ranges and capabilities – will help to diagnose and fix those injuries.**_" Ratchet let go of the tiny limb and raised his optics fully to Bumblebee. "_**Which reminds me of something that I should give them before I start working on you.**_"

Humans and owner were left waiting when Ratchet turned back around and opened one of the cabinets over his counter. He reached in and pulled something out, then turned to demonstrate.

"_**This is probably more of a gift to you than to them,**_" Ratchet amended. The medic carefully presented two of his finest needles, once upon a time reserved solely for sparklings' fine wires. "_**These will be used to inject two micro-tracers. At the cost of a tiny prick to both of their backs, you'll never have to worry about misplacing the pair of them.**_"

Bumblebee whirred appreciatively. "_**Really?**_" He blinked at the two needles. Dropkick's needles had been larger than that, right? Or was he just imagining things?

Ratchet gave a solid nod. "_**Certainly. The technology is very basic – primitive, even. It was probably before your day, youngling, but soldiers used to have mandatory tracers. After the opposing factions began to find fool-proof ways to hack into the codes, and then into the frequencies, and locate their enemies, we started phasing most forms of tracers out of the front lines.**_" He picked up Complement and held her steady. "_**I would wager your humans would not face the same problems. Shall I proceed, placing the devices alongside their identification chips?**_"

Knowing it would be best in the long run, Bee was willing to put his two pets through that split second moment of discomfort that he'd seen them face in Dropkick's care. Bee purred encouragingly to Complement as he gave his approval.

Ratchet softly set the female back onto the table, using the minutest amount of pressure to force her forward. Her protests were faint, but they were enough to rouse an instant response from Signal, especially when the CMO used his non-needle-holding hand to simultaneously pin the organic femme on her stomach and push the fabric she wore out of the way.

"_**You be quiet, now,**_" remarked Ratchet, though hushed. He deftly slid a teeny – barely visible – blackish-gray chip onto a fingerpad and maneuvered the small needle to tap the tracer into its tip. Bumblebee was not certain that a mech should even be able to handle such small, precise instruments with that kind of dexterity… and with only one hand! "_**I'm not hurting your mate.**_"

He was very quick about lowering and positioning the needle. Complement's small body tensed when the precision point was pricked into her skin, but before she could so much as give a complete twitch, Ratchet had retracted the needle and let her up. She scrambled quickly to right herself and sidle up to Signal. Signal wrapped an arm about her, likely in a display of protective defensiveness.

This time Ratchet prepared the needle beforehand. Bumblebee hummed quietly at the two organics, keeping his watchful gaze on Signal while Ratchet repeated the procedure. The male was chipped and released just as quickly, if not even quicker, than Complement had been.

"_**There. Now that should be a weight off your processors should something ever happen to them again,**_" a very satisfied Ratchet approved of his own work. No more endangering wanderings for you, he wanted to inform the Earthlings. He looked instead to Bumblebee. "_**Now it's your turn. Hop up here so I can make sure you're functioning according to design.**_"

Bumblebee hesitantly blinked at the creatures currently occupying the table he was supposed to 'hop up' on. "_**... What about them?**_"

"_**Let them wander the Ark for a bit. Don't protest – Ironhide and I made sure to close the vents and lock the controls to the cargo rooms, shafts, and the other dangerous things you're probably worrying about right now. Very similar to what we used to do during lockdowns,**_" Ratchet preemptively assured.

"_**Isn't that dangerous to the ship after a while?**_"

Ratchet dismissed it with a hand wave. "_**If we were to keep the ship in lockdown for more than a half dozen cycles without break, then yes, it could be detrimental to the Ark's systems. But your pets won't be wandering for that long.**_"

Maybe it was just the apprehension of not really knowing just how safe Signal and Complement would be, out of his sight and exploring the vast Ark, but Bee was still hesitant to agree. He ultimately maximized his intakes and placed his humans on the floor, one at a time.

The pair of them stood there dumbly for a long moment. Both mechs watched them silently. Only when it became apparent that neither organic had the slightest clue what was expected of them did Ratchet raise a hand. Signal and Complement stared at it.

"_**Go ahead. Shoo,**_" Ratchet told them, waving his hand at the door. The gesture needed to be repeated several times, with Bumblebee faintly joining in, before the bipedal aliens began to scoot towards the doorframe. Satisfied, Ratchet turned back to Bumblebee. "_**Much easier to focus on you without little aliens wreaking havoc at my feet.**_"

"_**My humans do not wreak havoc,**_" twittered Bee.

When the pair of yellow-hued mechs next stole a glance at the open floor before the doorway, it was conspicuously empty. Complement and Signal had finally gotten the hint and disappeared into the maze of hallways and rooms that made up the Ark.

* * *

Mikaela hugged her arms together, giving the periodic rub for extra warmth. If anything, it was her feet that needed the heat. It was obvious that the mechs who lived here – Black and New Yellow, the latter of which needed a new name – didn't normally keep the place appropriately heated for humans like Yellow and Softie did. The air was mostly fine, but the metal floors were still quite chilly and sent spikes of coolness rushing through her every so often.

Sam didn't say anything either way. He seemed preoccupied with trying to come up with an exploratory theme song. Mikaela didn't mean to be a critic, but he certainly sounded like he was failing.

"You know, Miles would just tell you to sing the Dora song and be done with it," she told him, smiling.

Sam's response was a mumbled affirmation. They had reached the end of the hallway that ran outside of that gathering room. It formed a 'T' with another corridor, spotted with open and closed doors. Which direction now?

"I vote left," Mikaela said, sensing the unspoken question.

"Left it is," Sam agreed. They turned in that direction and started down the large hallway.

Large was probably an understatement. At least two, maybe three Yellows could walk side by side down it comfortably. The same two-to-three Yellows rule applied vertically as well, but under what circumstance a robot would want to carry its friends around on its shoulders was a mystery to the exploring teens.

"I sorta wonder how big these guys get," said Sam. "I mean, what if these dimensions are made to accommodate the largest of them? That'd be one huge freakin' robot."

Mikaela took in the entirety of the hallway and then nodded. "Yeah, it would be. But I'd guess their mechanics probably just wanted comfortable hallways."

Yes, let's go with that, Sam conceded mentally. It managed to push the '_giant_ giant robot' idea away to a fairly safe distance.

Most of the open rooms that the pair of them passed were disappointingly empty. Same thing went for the hallways. A few hallways had grates that once upon a time probably served as vents, but each of these had slated metal behind them suggesting that any vent that used to be there was long out of use.

Sam and Mikaela, at one point, heard a commotion coming from one end of a hallway. Having watched one too many scary movies, perhaps, they decided against going to investigate and instead went in the opposite direction.

Considering nothing came to attack them, they believed they'd made the right decision.

After a couple long corridors and a few short halls, plus a strange little vestibule room, the wandering – and steadily-becoming-lost – humans stumbled upon an open room with numerous boxes and crates.

"Oh, ho, ho," Sam tried to sound menacing, "what have we here?"

It took a second for Mikaela to find inspiration, but she eventually managed to play off Sam's tone. "That New Yellow guy is obviously a scientist or a doctor… perhaps a mad one. Maybe this is where he keeps his crazy experiments and dismembered robot parts?"

Sam began to creep into the darkened room. At the motion, the ceiling lights flickered on, and Sam sighed at the foiling of his antics. Then he saw that one of the boxes had fallen over at some point, and a giant mess of various-sized wires and cables was spilling out of it.

"Holy crap! It's totally a dismembered robot." _Haha_, he continued in his head – _we're totally onto you, New Yellow_. The alien machines coerced both teens closer to start an investigation.

"Seriously, Sam," Mikaela said as she looked over the wires, "New Yellow needs a new name."

Sam reached down and began shifting some of the multicolored mess about, trying to make shapes with them. "I'm all for that. How about… Psycho McStudies-Humans-A-Lot?"

"Eh… It has potential, but my instincts are telling me no," Mikaela tried to let him down gently, placing a consoling hand on his shoulder. "How about, 'The Doctor?'" she suggested, spreading her hands slightly to add to the drama of the name.

Sam thought about it seriously. "It has a ring to it… but what if he's not a doctor? …And that sorta sounds like, 'The Caretaker,' don't you think?"

Mikaela had to agree. Then she pointed out, "The Caretaker had needles, too, though, so maybe the similarity is a good thing."

For a short while only the shifting of the wires made any sounds. Then,

"Yeah, I like The Doctor," Sam conceded. He started making jokes about Doctor Who, something along the lines of, 'Doctor who? The Doctor! Doctor Who? No, just The Doctor.' Eventually he must've realized he sounded somewhat stupid and switched topics. That, or he realized he had never actually watched Doctor Who to begin with. He only allowed boredom and silence to claim the room for about a minute.

"…So… wire fight?" He selected the largest wire and hefted it up.

Mikaela said nothing.

"…Okay, wire fight," she agreed at length, choosing quantity over quality and picking up a fist full of the looping things.

* * *

Ironhide returned three-quarters of the way through Bee's exam, instructing Bumblebee to hold his arm out so the new regulator could be implanted. Bee held very still while his mentor worked on the one arm, the medic on a problematic wrist joint.

Bee mutely swung one of his feet in tiny circles, heavily reminded of his younglinghood. No matter what his friends said, he'd come a long way from being a true youngling. Was he young? Yes. Still a youngling? Probably not.

The ex-scout told the two mechs about his reminiscing after a short while. Ironhide gave a grunt and made the final connection between the new component and Bee's systems.

"_**Little yellow terror that you were,**_" he groused, but with an undercurrent of affection.

Intent on tightening an armor joint, Ratchet worked out, "_**On occasion – yes – but not like – the twins.**_" He sighed when the joint was properly tightened.

Ah, the twins…

"_**I think that was poor planning, splitting them up,**_" Bee chimed. "_**Why did they even agree to that again?**_"

About half a vorn ago now, Optimus had requested that the twins return to Cybertron. There, they would probably be put to better use in working with and controlling any wayward ex-Cons. However, Ultra Magnus – who had assumed a role that could only be described as a traveling, top enforcer serving directly under Prime – requested that the twins come with him.

Everyone had been surprised when it was decided that Sideswipe would go with Magnus, Sunstreaker remain with Prime.

"_**Glitched if I know,**_" Ratchet admitted. Ironhide said something to the same affect right behind him.

Ironhide retreated to the files he had discarded with Bumblebee's arrival. Now that he had the smallish mech to himself, Ratchet was able to neatly and efficiently finish up what he was doing. Just like the old days, Bee had spectacular self-maintenance. Beyond the iffy wrist joint and some strangely crossed wires in the mech's side, Bumblebee was functioning just perfectly. The CMO began to reclaim and file his instruments back into their proper places.

"_**I just remembered,**_" chirped Bee with some energy. The talk about the twins and Cybertron had reminded him of his mental note. "_**On the way over here, some mechs were talking about Optimus and Verita Pax. I didn't really hear all of what they were saying, and I was wondering if you knew anything about that?**_"

Ratchet and Ironhide looked at one another as if they were comparing notes. At length, Ironhide answered, "_**Specifics, no – but a rumor's goin' around that Prime'll be arranging a visit. It'd be about time, too.**_"

Bumblebee clicked, a mix of interest and excitement. Prime, visiting the colony? That'd be wonderful!

"_**But don't get your hopes too high, botling,**_" Ratchet advised as he put away the last of his tools, "_**No point setting yourself up for something that might not happen. Even if it did, it would probably be an official venture without much free time on Optimus's part. If we hear more, we'll be sure to send an update your way.**_"

They spoke more on the issue, but not for very long. Bee explained that he really couldn't stay too much longer since he had completed forms at home that he needed to get to Enforcer Nightflight and more to fill out about a construction venture outside the easternmost border of the domed section of the colony.

"_**Probably for the best; I've got a mech scheduled for a full frame check in about half a joor,**_" the CMO recalled. "_**Might look better to have the place cleared, reorganized, and organic-free by the time he arrives.**_"

Ratchet grabbed the abandoned carrier and presented it to Bumblebee. "_**Give those new tracers of theirs a test run.**_"

Bumblebee did just that. He activated the primitive codes and, moments later, two small identification blips tacked themselves into his positioning systems. Compiling his well-known internal map of the Ark with the previous system, and it became very clear that the signal sources were coming from what was once, if Bumblebee was not mistaken, Hound's old quarters.

Experimentally, Bumblebee interchanged the map overlay to one of the colony's blueprints, and in an instant the data dots were coming from the Ark. The ex-scout practically beamed, incredibly pleased about the added insurance to his pets' safety.

"_**I think they're in Hound's old room,**_" Bee told his ex-comrades.

Ironhide narrowed an optic at Ratchet, wondering aloud, "_**That one of the rooms we've been storing stuff in, or no?**_"

"_**Yes,**_" Ratchet nodded, "_**but nothing dangerous. If it were, it would've been locked off.**_" He gave an acknowledging nod and whir to Bumblebee as the smaller mech stood up with the carrier in hand. "_**Feel free to stop by again. If I discover you haven't been maintaining that right wrist joint properly, however, Primus help you.**_"

With a 'will do' and farewell wave and data share, Bumblebee was out of the room.

* * *

"Argh, cable monster!" Sam made a very inaccurate hissing noise and hefted the half-foot thick cable up, yielding it like a snake. "Coming to get you!" he stalked forward toward Mikaela.

Mikaela, for her part, wasn't laughing or pulling faces or staring at Sam like he was crazy. At least, not yet. She had several much smaller wires, all trailing out of one of the toppled over boxes, and shook them dramatically. "Oh no!" she said in a high pitched voice – at long last, laughter was trying to sneak itself into her voice. "Run away!" She turned and did her very best to make her ends of the wires wiggle through the air in a false escape from the monster cable.

Somewhere, somehow, Miles would have been proud.

"Too late!" Sam warned. Mikaela stopped just in time to see him throw his cable at her. The weight of it didn't let it get very far, and it fell with a soft 'thunk' onto the ground. Both teenagers stared at it, more than a little let down.

After a few silent seconds, Mikaela threw her wires on top of it.

"I win," she smiled. Sam hung his head, both to hide his childish grin and to mimic shameful defeat. Mikaela shook her head. "Wow. We are such five year olds."

Sam looked up. He stalked over to the cable that had spelled his defeat and hoisted it back up – really, what the hell was it made of, solid steel? – and reassured, "No, we're just teenagers suffering from internet deprivation. We make do, Mikaela – we are an adaptive bunch."

"That, or crazy," she added. Mikaela didn't wait for a response and turned back to the box were her wires originated from. There had been a very attractive blue-shaded one, and she wondered if she couldn't pull it out and somehow convince Yellow to let her keep it?

When Sam saw his girlfriend digging through the conglomeration of 'skinny,' half-inch thick wires, he came to investigate. Mikaela told him of her current aspirations. Upon spotting the almost midnight blue wire, she and Sam began pulling it out to the best of their abilities. It quickly became obvious that the wire wasn't going to be as easy to free as simple pulling.

They were so absorbed in trying to get it out that they missed the sound of approaching mech footsteps and didn't even realize that Yellow was crouched behind them until he warbled. Mikaela jumped, Sam actually gave a startled cry – Mikaela smirked at him, silently vowing not to let him live it down in the immediate future.

Yellow looked them over for a while, but judging from the carrier he had placed on the ground, the teens gathered that it was time to go. The mech clicked a few times, and then he reached forward. Sam and Mikaela scooted to the side, dropping the blue wire and beginning to head for the carrier before he could brush them into it.

However, a glance backward over their shoulder proved that Yellow hadn't been reaching for them – he was reaching for the blue wire, and after what – to him – had to be gentle tugs, the whole length of it came loose. Yellow curled it around two fingers as he went. The humans stopped to watch as the some fifteen feet of it was looped up.

Yellow then blinked down at them, holding one end of the wire out questioningly, talking to them again.

"Quick," Sam said, "show interest."

Feeling just a little awkward, Mikaela hesitantly held a hand out, looking mightily apprehensive.

Yellow did his funny optic-smile at them. He slid the looped wire from his hand and, while still talking to them, it disappeared into thin air again.

Sam and Mikaela were so not getting over the surprise of that any time soon.

_Now_ Yellow ushered them to the miniature cage, never actually touching them because they made it clear that they weren't going to fight against him. He closed the door after they were fully inside.

Mikaela and Sam braced themselves as the whole container was picked up, although they had to admit that it was scarcely unsettling anymore.

Sam settled his back against two of the bars and got comfortable. "I think you just got yourself a new toy," he applauded.

And while Mikaela didn't know just what she could ever actually use the wire for, she felt just a little bit better knowing that she could feasibly get Yellow to get her something that she wanted. Maybe Sam hadn't been off about 'pushing borders' with docile mechs at all.

* * *

Three joors after Bumblebee departed, and about a joor since Ratchet's scheduled patient, one very jittery Sureshock, had left, the black and off-yellow colored friends found themselves on opposite sides of the rec. room's center table. Each was working on different dismantled components of an old shock-pulse canon, attempting to fix and update it.

Ratchet was in the middle of reinforcing a circuit breaker when he looked up sharply.

"_**That's odd,**_" mumbled the medic. He tapped inquisitively at the side of his helm, optics changing their settings minutely. Ironhide gave him a curious, if still bored, look. "_**I feel like Prowl just tried to message me. I just received a communiqué that was practically white noise, but it was definitely Prowl's old signal – I'd recognize it anywhere… But he's not responding to my return hails.**_"

Ironhide straightened at the prospect of action. "_**What do you mean? Could he be in trouble?**_"

Ratchet steadily narrowed his optics into intense slits, then closed them and turned his focus briefly inward to analyze the unprecedented communications attempt. When he next opened his optics, he did so with a sigh from his exhausts. "_**No. There's no distress component, just a failed connection. What the frag…**_"

Neither mech decided to give it too much thought. They returned to their respective tasks and let the anomaly flee from their processors.

Well, they at least made a valiant effort to do so. In spite of the failure of the radio connection, the tactician was apparently determined to talk with them. Only a few breems later, there was a ping at the Ark's main entrance. When Ironhide and Ratchet turned to the unobtrusive and recently-installed monitors, they revealed a very stoic – very normal looking – Prowl.

It was with an intrigued, mildly irritated quirk of the faceplates that Ratchet granted remote access.

Ironhide simply scrutinized the monitor, gaze growing more and more focused. Prowl eventually stepped through the doorway and thus off the monitor, but the black mech was still prompted to enquire, "_**… Just what the slag is he carrying?**_"

* * *

TBC…

Decided to let the human show up sooner than initially planned, but I think this'll work just fine. Plus, everybody loves Prowl!

Indeed – no real action in this chapter, but lots of necessary developments and 'horizon expansions' to be seen. The next chapter, however, should be quite fun, and hopefully out within 2 weeks tops (since I'm technically on school break and I'll have fun writing the main parts of it). But I make no promises!

P.S., I recognize that 'The Doctor' is actually the little Decepticon thingy who likes putting brains on tables in ROTF…


	8. Surrogate

**Title: **Property Of

**Rating: **T

**Summary:** During Cybertronian 'peace,' ex-Cons hide the sentience of and sell humans as pets to secure Earth. Sam and Mikaela might just be the first to grasp the reality of the situation alongside their new owner.

**Chapter:** Surrogate

*sighs contentedly* I think I like this chapter. And it's a new record for me – despite the wait I gave before posting, it took only two days to write and proofread (P.S. – inform me of typos I missed; I think the document saved funny). If only ALL of my life was spring break, and all chapters so fun from an author's POV.

Aha! Yet another thoughtful question, presented by **Blue Phoenix-wolf**, that a lot of readers are probably still a little confused about (I now gather). The question was: '_why have Sam and Mikaela not tried to communicate through different means; i.e. actions, models and pictures? I'm just confused at the lack of effort; surely I, myself in that situation, would try to communicate._'

One main reason: most humans, believe it or not, are under the impression that mechs are aware that they are sentient to at least some degree – they just don't think mechs care. After all, all the first mechs 'domesticated' humans are introduced to speak English and know the deal about Earth, so from their perspective, why wouldn't _all_ mechs? They have no reason to think the species has (ex)factions, with one section willing to lie to the other. Plus, both mechs and other humans drilled into Sam/Mikaela/all newbies at the store and during processing that you were much better off just trying to play the part of affectionate pet and not trying to start things (Mr. Seasick, remember, threatened even euthanasia for the unruly); especially as they started to realize that they had things pretty good with Yellow, Sam and Mikaela are actually quite hesitant to mess things up by 'acting _too_ sentient,' thus their tendencies to do things like talking quietly so as not to offend.

Hope that answers any uncertainties. If not, again, I'm more than happy to discuss over PM. Now… onwards to adorableness!

* * *

_Ironhide simply scrutinized the monitor, gaze growing more and more focused. Prowl eventually stepped through the doorway and thus off the monitor, but the black mech was still prompted to enquire, "_**… Just what the slag is he carrying?**_" _

_00000_

"_**And why won't he answer my frequency hails?**_" the medic growled gently. With a resigned glance at the counter top, Ratchet turned from the blank monitor. There had to be something wrong with the visiting mech's radio transmitters, and possibly even his radio receivers. It wasn't like Prowl to go without repairs when they were needed… Something had to be wrong, and yet the lack of distress coding suggested it couldn't have been major.

"_**I could've sworn that I saw something,**_" muttered Ironhide, ignorant to Ratchet's internal puzzling. Ratchet blinked at him. The CMO couldn't say anything either way about that – he hadn't been looking at the mech's hands because he'd been too preoccupied looking for any noticeable damage around Prowl's head that could interfere with radio signals.

The pair waited quietly for their unexpected visitor to make his way to their favored room. After maybe half a breem, there was a respectful knocking on the outside of the room's currently closed doors to announce Prowl's presence. Then the automatic locks gave way in nostalgic recognition of the ex-second in command's signature – no code even required – and the tactician stepped into the room.

It had been a while since the stark black and white mech had stood in the halls of the Ark, but he still seemed to fit right in with the décor.

"_**Ratchet, Ironhide,**_" greeted Prowl curtly, but with an unusually soft look to his optics. "_**My apologies if your comm. messages didn't get through to me – my communications systems have been down in that regard lately.**_"

Ratchet tapped his finger irately against the table, mindful of the dismantled pulse cannon. "_**And you didn't come to see me about repairing them before now, why?**_"

Meanwhile, Ironhide was shifting all around in place like an antsy sparkling. While Ratchet and Prowl discussed the injury, Ironhide stepped closer and to the side to try and see what it was Prowl had in his mostly closed hands. There was definitely something in there, roughly balled up… and… moving?

"_**I was otherwise preoccupied with bureaucracy and had no time to allot for menial repairs. By any means, I'm here now, although not for repairs.**_" Prowl glanced between his friends. He largely ignored Ironhide's antics, and chose to head Ratchet off before the medic could get into an argument over what constituted menial injuries. "_**I do apologize for the short notice, but I need to ask a favor of you – and a rather large one at that.**_"

"_**You've got a tiny human in your hands!**_" Ironhide observed finally with a start. He'd caught sight of yellowish-brownish hair that could only belong to a human.

At the exclamation, Ratchet angled himself to try and get a better look. Prowl shifted his hands just slightly so that the other mechs could better see his cargo.

"_**Yes, I am aware,**_" he confirmed, as if there had been any doubt about the creature he held.

A smaller-than-normal human with pale skin, unkempt hair, widened bluish eyes, and standard human rags of a light green color jumped at the motion of the hands around it. It withdrew when it realized it was being put out into the open, pushing its side harder into the crevice created where two of Prowl's fingers met his palm. Ironhide looked curiously at it – likely a 'her,' he thought – but when it looked over and saw him staring, it pressed even more tightly into Prowl's hands and closed its eyes, feebly drawing her limbs in to attempt to hide her face.

The human didn't do the best job concealing itself. Ironhide swore that he could see water starting to build around the lids of its tiny, organic optics.

Ratchet stared, unsettled. "_**It's terrified, Prowl!**_" He couldn't be certain of all human norms, but compared to the heart rate he'd recorded from Complement earlier, the thing was far beyond being simply stressed at her predicament.

Prowl slowly nodded. "_**Sadly, I am aware of that as well. She's nothing more than a youngling, practically a sparkling.**_" The tactician shifted his hand so that the youngling wasn't leaning at an odd angle. "_**You are aware that humans are supposed to live – using the unit of time based off of their planet's revolution – eighty years or so? I estimate that this little one here is not quite six years yet, and I've had several mechs agree with me.**_" He hesitated, raising his optics from the trembling form to look at his ex-comrades more respectfully before he proceeded. "_**As you may have concluded, she's the reason that I'm here.**_"

"_**Is she sick or something?**_" inquired Ratchet almost immediately.

In the pause that followed, Ratchet began to perform what scans he could from a distance. He took Prowl's silence to mean that either the little femme was, indeed, sick or injured, or something even graver was at fault.

"_**No, she's generally healthy to the best of my knowledge. Homesick, perhaps. In acute need of her creators and caretakers, definitely.**_" After a moment, Prowl elaborated, "_**It's suggested that we don't separate human offspring from their parents until into their second decade unless the owners are willing to provide extra care and caution in dealing with them. Of course, the younglings are highly desired due to their trainability, longevity, and an added 'cuteness factor,' as some mechs label it.**_" No one commented, though Ratchet had to agree that he could understand the appeal. "_**Inevitably, not all human youngling owners are capable of properly caring for the charges they purchase. Statistically, most owners simply cannot handle the task and their humans suffer for it. This one,**_" he said, presenting the pitiable animal he held, "_**is not the exception.**_"

Ironhide – who, again, had been focused more on the prone form than on Prowl – tore his optics from the tiny bundle. In wary disbelief, he growled out, "_**Was she maltreated, then?**_"

"_**Not intentionally, no. Her owner simply didn't fully comprehend the complexities of caring for human young before he acquired one. When he finally accepted that he could not provide appropriate and efficient treatment, he sought me out for guidance,**_" said Prowl. He gave the little female an uncharacteristically apologetic look, although her face was buried in her hands and the metal of his fingers so she could not see it or be comforted by it. "_**I removed her from his custody earlier this cycle. I've read enough on the proceedings at the trading posts and breeding facilities that I wish to avoid sending her there if at all possible. I was wondering if you'd be willing to provide a temporary home for her until a suitable owner can be found. I would do so myself, but I certainly have no time to tend to a being with such needs as hers at the moment.**_"

Both Ratchet and Ironhide glanced down at the young human, not certain what to make of this sudden turn of events. She was so fragile looking, so helpless, dwarfed even more than normal in contrast to Prowl's protective grasp.

The medic paused. "_**Prowl, the Ark… It's no place for a human youngling, is it? It's huge, it's full of vents and elevators and sensitive doors dangerous to one her size and vulnerability,**_" Ratchet listed logically, fearing for the future safety of the human should she stay there. He didn't want to deny the femmeling, but would it really be in her best interest? Maybe Bumblebee would be willing to look after her for a short while – surely Prowl would be able to locate an appropriate home if given the time.

Ironhide, on the other hand, merely watched the uncomfortable youngling. He could practically feel her desperation and discomfort and sorrow. Even as Prowl and Ratchet went back and forth over logistics, bringing up a potential alternative in Bumblebee, the black mech knew he couldn't let her go.

"_**I want her,**_" he announced with optics still intent upon the human. His ex-comrades quieted. "_**I'll keep her.**_"

Ratchet blinked, audibly so. He felt as if Ironhide meant 'want and keep' not in agreement to the temporary situation but for forever. "_**Ironhide…**_"

"_**She needs someone to look after her – I can do that. And don't say I don't have the patience to properly watch out for a youngling,**_" Ironhide preempted. They all knew how surprisingly skilled he'd always been when it came to tending to sparklings and younglings, among them Bumblebee and Bluestreak. And, with the non-violence accord in affect, "_**I've needed something to occupy my time other than fiddling with the same weapons over and over again. Why not invest it in a good cause?**_"

Ironhide moved closer to Prowl, ready to take the human right then and there. He reiterated, "_**I want her, Prowl; I'd be more than happy to take her.**_" Already he couldn't bear the thought of the innocent, weak little organic winding up with some other mech that didn't have her best interests at spark.

Prowl looked back and forth between the mechs. "_**You're sure? And is it alright with you, Ratchet**__?_" As much as Prowl had been hoping to coerce the mechs into not just temporarily watching the youngling, but making a permanent home for her, he did not want to say yes to Ironhide if Ratchet truly didn't want to be responsible for her as well.

Predictably, Ironhide nodded. Ratchet hesitated, torn between the initial bouts of logic and the sincerity his long-time friend was exhibiting. The medic let the gentle, normal hum of mechanics in the room take control as he considered the situation. Ironhide – for the first time in a while – looked pleading behind his optics and worn faceplates. Then, there was the human youngling herself, curled up in Prowl's hands, still trembling and leaking and afraid to even recognize their existences; she was such a mess, perhaps more so than even the pair of them were capable of healing.

He continued to wait, weighing the circumstances, before exhaling through his vents. Ratchet met Prowl's optics. "_**I'm not going to deny him something he wants so badly, nor am I going to deny a helpless organic the chance of having an attentive caregiver**__._" If there was a chance that even they would struggle with properly caring for the young femme, both physically and emotionally it seemed, then he couldn't in good conscience risk the ineptitude of another mech that he didn't know condemning her. Ratchet's optics flickered briefly to Ironhide. An expression of happiness washed over the old mech. "_**She can stay on the Ark.**_"

Prowl donned a relieved look. "_**Thank you. I knew you would be able to assist.**_"

At this point Ironhide appeared to be reverting into an impatient youngling. He expectantly offered his own cupped hands as a request to hold the youth.

Prowl obligingly (and with a discreet amused expression passed Ratchet's way) started to conscientiously shift his hands. The movements startled the nameless figure, no matter how gentle they were. She jerked away from the metal, her small eyes wide and frightful and sparkling with the extra water her stress had produced. As her perch tilted and she began to slide into a different set of hands, her intakes grew uneven. She tried to grab at Prowl for a crazed moment. With her little heart beating far too fast, noted a concerned Ratchet, she fell slowly but surely into Ironhide's waiting care.

The dazed expression the human wore didn't last very long. She started to look around at the new surroundings frantically. Her head whipped about for several astroseconds to glance at the unfamiliar creases and fingertips and metallic paneling. All the while, her breathing and heart rate grew more erratic and hitched.

Ironhide could only look on in mounting fright of his own. This certainly wasn't supposed to be happening! With each passing second, she grew less and less stable. He was at a complete loss as to how to keep her from falling apart even more.

Then, the little Earthling raised her gaze upwards towards her holder's face. When her bluish organic eyes met the solid, striking blue of the ex-Autobot holding her, she froze.

The freezing was the only precursor to a wave of tears spilling from her optics, and shaky, gasping breaths accentuated by strangled sounds from her tiny lungs.

All three mechs stared.

"_**No, no! Stop that!**_" Ironhide found himself pleading with the clearly panicking youth. However, she only seemed to shed more tears at his voice – even more so when he brought her closer to his face. "_**You don't need to do that, you don't! No one's going to hurt you here, not with me watching you,**_" he insisted.

As the organic continued with her display, Ironhide tilted her so that she was held in only one of his hands. He used a single finger from the other to attempt to console her. The exaggerated breathing and waterworks did not cease, but neither did they considerably increase as the gentle digit stroked her soothingly. Ironhide stopped when his efforts produced no results.

"_**Has she done this before?**_" Ratchet asked in a near whisper. Perhaps the reaction was an attempt to confuse or startle potential threats into leaving her alone. The mechs were sufficiently confused, but the 'leaving her alone' portion was yet to be met. The young female gave up her attempts to brave the mech holding her. She turned and pressed her wetted face into Ironhide's slightly curled fingers, either unaware that they were still part of the mech she seemed so scared of or not caring that they were.

Prowl raised a hand and extended two fingers. Ironhide and Ratchet watched as the tactician placed the digits on the human's back; she jumped at the contact something fierce. Once Prowl began gently vibrating the fingers, however, she seemed to calm a bit. She was still crying – and now that Ratchet thought about it, he recognized that this was only the fourth species he knew of that could demonstrate stress in such a way – but her frame began to lessen in the severity of its rocking.

"_**Yes, earlier today, when I first took her. She has had several smaller fits, but nothing as severe as this,**_" he answered. His voice was respectfully quiet, trying his hardest to remove any more unnecessary stress. "_**I asked her owner about it, and he detailed that it wasn't uncommon for her to behave like such. The combination of her premature separation from her mother and the insufficient attention he gave her make this somewhat understandable.**_" Prowl looked up from the human, shifting attention between Ratchet and Ironhide. "_**I am afraid that I am uncertain as to how you would be able to prevent this from becoming commonplace under your care as well. It may well be an ingrained behavior at this point.**_"

Well, frag. Ironhide wanted to tuck the prone human safely into his chassis, yet he didn't want to break her seemingly soothing connection with Prowl or unintentionally cause her even more fright.

"_**We'll figure something out,**_" Ironhide swore. He met Prowl's optics, and the ex-SIC slowly withdrew his fingers. The black mech placed one of his own atop the slowly calming, still scared youngling, repeating Prowl's method. "_**She's gonna be just fine.**_"

…

Three cycles later, however, and she was still not 'fine.' Prowl departed not too much longer after Ironhide had made his promise – "_**There's an even more urgent matter that requires my immediate attention. I received an anonymous tip about a rogue human spotted loose in an apartment complex a cycle ago,**_" he'd said. "_**I would stay longer, but I need to start investigating and planning my approach to this as soon as possible. …Yes, Ratchet, I give you my word I'll get my systems repaired.**_" After the femmeling had sufficiently regained herself, Ironhide set her down on his work table. This transition alarmed her just as her transference between mechs had. Ratchet kept a healthy distance, definitely wanting to avoid crowding her, but even he saw the signs of another fit as she stared about at the large components sprawled atop the table.

But their newest resident didn't break down again. Instead, she skittered in a pathetic sprint for the cover of a makeshift rack Ironhide had set up for his various welding torches. Luckily for her there was a compartment in it directly against the table top. Normally a torch used for welding delicate weapon components back in place was rested there, but it and another were currently across the ship in Ironhide's personal quarters.

The youngling crawled into the empty space, turning so that she could peek her eyes out and monitor the actions of the two offensive mechs that were setting her on edge.

When Ironhide tried to coax her out she simply moved further into the space. His third attempt to get her to come out resulted in more tears, after which he quickly gave up and decided to let her try and figure out for herself that neither he nor Ratchet meant her any ill will.

The weapons specialist kept part of his attention on her hideaway while he ensured that his most recent project was stopped at a stage that was easy enough to resume from later on. He told Ratchet that he was leaving to pick up necessary supplies, unnecessarily requesting that the medic keep a sensor on her. When the mech eventually returned, she was still hidden away under the structure.

"_**She came out twice,**_" Ratchet had told him, "_**But when she was out, every sound I made caused her to tense, and the sound of you returning sent her rushing for cover again. I think Prowl may have underestimated just how neglected she was, be it unintentional or otherwise.**_"

Ironhide was immensely happy that she came out when he offered her food. Still, she took it in a way that left no doubt that she thought he would hurt her if she made a motion that he didn't like.

The first cycle on the Ark, she fell asleep in her little compartment.

When she awoke, it was to a mostly cleared desk. Ironhide and Ratchet had quietly moved everything from the black mech's work table as she slept. Ironhide had even taken the torch rack, and instead placed a more accommodating shelter over her: a large energon cube with the side facing the table top and the rest of the room sawed neatly off, courtesy of one of Ratchet's saws. They had placed a waste receptacle at one corner.

Ironhide and Ratchet doubted that they could do such precision work against the organic's knowledge again, because the cube had been a snug fit for its contents.

Noticing the unexpected change in her surroundings nearly sent the young female into another crying fit, but she managed to control it.

It was then that Ironhide decided that the ease with which she was thrown off and into stress attacks, and the gentleness of her movements, warranted her a name – "_**Softspark,**_" he muttered, testing it out as he once again was able to get her to come out solely based on the promise of food. She jumped at the address and backtracked quickly to her hideout. "_**Yeah, you've got a soft spark, alright.**_"

"_**She's not the only one,**_" Ratchet observed.

The second cycle passed much the same as the first. It was late into the third cycle, when nothing had changed, that Ironhide addressed Softspark, "_**How am I gonna make you see you're safe here? That you don't need to hide under there all stressed?**_"

"_**If only she had her creators here to model off of,**_" said Ratchet wishfully. Softspark had fallen asleep again, completely entangled in a square of the softest cleaning fabric that Ratchet could find in their supplies. "_**It's very common for younglings of any species to mimic their elders, or, at the very least, be comforted by them.**_"

Ironhide stalled up. He turned to Ratchet, optics bright. "_**Ratch', you're a genius.**_"

"_**I've heard some claim,**_" the medic joked. But his genius was failing him at the moment, it seemed, because he couldn't make heads or tails of Ironhide's choice of exclamation. Then, at approximately the same time as the weapons specialist decided to let him in on his idea, it hit him.

"_**Bumblebee.**_"

* * *

/ _**Wait, wait, wait – Prowl gave you a human youngling? **_/ Bumblebee asked, nowhere near all of his true surprise filtering into the shared communications channel. / _**Where did he get one of those?**_ /

Bee had been minding his own business, trying to get Signal and Complement to play a game of tug-o-war with him using the wire he'd brought back from the Ark, when Ironhide and Ratchet called him into a three-way radio conversation. They had wasted very little time telling Bee that they wanted him to bring his humans over to see if they couldn't calm down a youngling femme Ironhide had taken in from Prowl.

/ _**It's part of his job, remember? When legal jargon meets human problems, you bet your processors Prowl's got a servo involved, **_/ Ironhide responded. / _**The youngling's practically glitched, Bee. Your pets could be one of her only chances to come around. **_/

Signal and Complement were looking at him expectantly since he had stopped toying with them.

/ _**If you saw her, you would understand. She's in desperate need of reassurance, and I don't think mechs are going to be able to convince her that we mean no harm. At least if she sees that she's not alone, and that her elders are comfortable in a mech's presence, she could have a chance to feel the same, **_/ Ratchet stated a bit more formally.

That was something Bumblebee could sort of relate to. He'd felt horrible that first day after bringing his own two humans home, and it had taken a while for Complement in particular to warm up to him. At least his humans were fully matured by the standards of their species. Complement and Signal were probably used to fending for themselves and dealing with problems on their own. If the female Prowl had given Ironhide was as young as they thought she was, then she couldn't possibly feel independent and secure by herself yet.

Again, Bee was glad he hadn't gotten a youngling. If he had put any creature through that sort of stress, no matter how inadvertently, he wouldn't be able to forgive himself.

/ _**Sure, I'll bring them over – just give me a moment. **_/ Bumblebee was about to exit the line when he froze, optics seeming to zero in for the first time on all the physical differences between Signal and Complement and recalling things he'd read about organic species before. / _**Um, Ratchet? I know Signal's really well-mannered around mechs and Complement, but… I mean… he'd be the same around a youngling, right? He wouldn't… get violent with one or anything? **_/

The three-way link was quiet for a very thoughtful and serious moment.

Ratchet's interest and heavy consideration were almost tangible through the connection as he wondered for all of them to hear, / _**I never thought about it. I don't remember reading anywhere that human males have violent tendencies toward their young, but that's a valid concern. There are many species with males who practice infanticide to ensure that only their genetics are passed on. **_/

The response from Ironhide was more emotional than actual words, but it implied – only partially joking – that the mech wouldn't hesitate to defend Softspark with violence of his own. It was very hard for Bumblebee to picture Signal attacking anyone or anything, let alone a defenseless young female of his own species.

/ _**We just won't leave Signal alone with her unwatched until we know she's safe with him, how about that? **_/ Ratchet proposed the glaringly obvious solution.

The three mechs agreed and broke the connection.

Bumblebee stood and went to fetch his humans' carrier. They looked at him almost tiredly and saw themselves inside of it before he even had to gesture at them.

Regardless of how Signal might react, Bee found himself incredibly excited at the prospect of observing a real, juvenile human. Had just half of Ironhide's description of her been true, then Softspark had to be adorable.

* * *

Hopefully their visits to the giant building wouldn't become too frequent. Or, in the case that they did become a part of their weekly lives, Mikaela and Sam prayed that The Doctor wouldn't always be a signature slot in their itineraries. Mikaela hadn't expected to be brought back to the giant building just three nights after the first planned visit, and neither had Sam. Although, then again, it wasn't like they had exactly been planning on _any_ specific thing to happen, so…

Anyways, there they were, sitting on top of the table in the middle of the same room they had now been brought to three different times after entering the enormous structure.

Something was definitely different this time. Yellow, Black, and The Doctor were all talking to each other in decidedly hushed volumes near a desk/table/thing across the room. Black's desk/table/thing, it had to be, because they'd seen the mech there the last two times. Sam was confused. Every so often one of the aliens would glance at where he and Mikaela sat, but they didn't move towards them. It was vaguely reminiscent of a highschool clique where members muttered and sniggered about non-members from across the room.

"What the heck do they think they're doing?" mumbled Mikaela. Like Sam, she didn't know if she should be put off or just entertained by the change of attitude. Images of giant robots wearing cheerleading skirts made her lean more towards 'entertained.'

Finally, Yellow stepped away from the group. He began making his famous crooning sounds and picked Sam up with cupped hands.

A familiar yet strange noise suddenly erupted. Instantly, Sam and Mikaela were no longer looking at each other but staring at the two other mechs. More accurately, they were trying to stare at what they knew their forms had to be concealing.

Someone was crying.

Sam didn't register the looks he was getting from Yellow and from The Doctor (Black was too busy giving his full attention to the being that was doing the crying). "What the…?" Sam said under his breath, all preconceptions about what he and Mikaela might have been doing there flying out the proverbial window.

Yellow stepped back into place between Black and The Doctor, and Sam couldn't stop staring when the source of the sobs came into view.

Seated towards the back-middle of the table, her short and thin arms and legs disappearing into the recognizably common clothes given to humans, was a little girl. She had her face pressed into her knees, her brownish-blonde hair in unclean disarray and draped all over. If he had had more than one set of eyes, Sam might have seen that the three mechs were now staring at him with the same level of fixation as he was staring at the strange, unprecedented kid.

What was he supposed to do now? Was there really a little girl sitting there, not some hallucination? And why had the mechs placed only him over here, leaving Mikaela behind on the table?

Once again toppled from his expectations of life, Sam Witwicky glanced up at the aliens in question, instantly becoming aware of their unnerving focus. Sam found it hard to tear his eyes away from them as he took his first few experimental steps towards the girl. Since the mechs didn't respond negatively, he kept going, switching his attention back to the depressing form.

"Uh, kid? Girl?" he called out uncertainly. Sam heard the mechs shifting at his voice, though they continued to merely watch.

The girl twitched at his summons. She looked up sharply, startled. Her blue-gray eyes were marred by the red stains of tears. Her visible shock at seeing him was indescribable. Sam couldn't guess when the last time she'd seen another human or talked to one was.

Sam rapidly surmised that the strange girl had been bawling because she was scared of the mechs. By looking up to acknowledge him, a hopeful look had flashed over her face. At the same time, by looking up, she'd had to acknowledge that there were three giant metallic aliens standing around her. One glance at them from the corner of her eye and the tears increased, her body shaking again.

Sam bit his lip.

"No, no! Hey, hey kid – don't cry. Stop crying, please?" Sam begged, finally closing the distance and crouching down next to her. She turned to him, still huddled and crying, and the three observant mechs seemed to draw their non-existent breaths. Shit, where was Mikaela when he needed her? _Why were the mechs staring at them like a science project?_ Sam looked around warily. He hated it when women cried, and he hated it when children cried. The two together was a horrible mix for him. He extended an arm to her.

The very second Sam touched her, she jumped forward. Still tearing up, but not openly sobbing, she shoved her face into his stomach and wrapped her desperate arms around him in a vice grip.

"Hey… hey, now," Sam tried to soothe. He was beginning to feel like he should be crying, too, though he wasn't sure why. "It's okay. You're gonna be fine, okay?"

"Robots," she squeaked out between her shaky breaths in place of an explanation and excuse. She didn't dare to even gesture at the offending creatures.

Sam looked over at the mechs and hushed the girl more as he saw Yellow turn from the table. Apparently the mech was satisfied with whatever he'd seen. "You're okay, I promise." He peeked up at Black. The huge, generally scary-looking tank of a mech was staring at him with such ferocity that Sam himself wanted to start shivering. The teen had the feeling that if he so much as raised his hand against the young girl he'd pay dearly for it.

And he had thought being abducted by the aliens had been surreal. _Guess we found which one of these guys you belong to…_

Yellow brought Mikaela with him when he returned. The mech set his hand flat against the table so she could climb off, and she was rushing over to the pair of them instantly.

"Sam, how'd she get here?" she whispered. For a second, Sam wondered why she bothered with whispering. He doubted the mechs cared what tone the humans spoke in right now, and the girl would still be able to hear it.

"I don't know," he answered, still just as quiet. "But she's scared of the mechs, that's all I got."

Mikaela crouched down and rubbed her hand on the girl's back. "It's okay. Shhh, now, it's okay." The girl pulled her face out of Sam's shirt, turning her attention to Mikaela. The tears were beginning to dry on her face, but she still hiccupped slightly. It was evident from her expression that the last thing she'd expected to see was a person, let alone two. Mikaela gave her a warm smile. "Hello, there. My name's Mikaela, and this is Sam. What's your name?"

The girl coughed quietly, causing her mech sentries to shift and draw her attention. When she caught sight of them she drew closer into Sam, partially hiding her face in his clothes. Only two teary eyes poked out between the cloth and her hair, focused on Mikaela.

"Annabelle," she whispered, so quiet that Mikaela and Sam barely heard her.

"Annabelle," repeated Mikaela, still trying to smile. In reality, she was aching for the girl. How long had she been like this? What had happened to her parents?

Sam interrupted, "That's a very pretty name," hoping to get a smile out of her. The girl looked like she wanted to smile – maybe – but couldn't bring herself to do it. The teens had to settle for her raising a hand and using the back of it to wipe at her face.

"And how old are you?" Sam asked, getting the comforting, normal questions out of the way. With a bit (ton) of luck, they might be able to get her to forget that she was sitting inside a giant alien building away from Earth with alien mechs watching her.

The girl hiccupped. "Four and a half."

The older girl was forced to pause. Only four? "Why were you crying, Annabelle?" Mikaela continued, sweet and soft, although she already knew the answer. Annabelle said "robots" in the same whispery voice; she didn't want to be reminded. She pressed the side of her face tighter still against Sam, leaving her blue-eyed gaze fast on Mikaela. "I see. Annabelle, you might not believe Sam and me, but you don't need to cry about these mechs… these robots," she corrected herself. She doubted that the girl would recognize the politically correct, more accurate term.

"Why?" coughed Annabelle, sounding suspicious and disbelieving.

"Well, you see the really yellow one?" Sam asked. Annabelle felt put on the spot. She quickly peeked under her arm and nodded the second she saw bright yellow. "He's with us. Or, well… we're with him."

"And he's _really_ nice to us. And these other robots? They're his friends, and they've been really nice to us, so we know they are going to be really nice to you, too," said Mikaela.

Annabelle sat a little straighter, pulling away from Sam a smidge. "But Daddy says the robots are bad… he protects people from robots," she said. Every person she ever met told her that the robots would do bad things to people, and that she needed to run away from them if she ever saw them.

"Is your dad still back home? On Earth?" The girl nodded, and Mikaela's empathy for her doubled. "Your dad wouldn't need to protect you from these ones," Mikaela said with a reassuring nod. "I think that's why Sam and I are here."

Confused, Annabelle sat the rest of the way up, running her hand over her face again and sniffling. After she wiped her face to her standards, she settled for just fisting some of Sam's shirt in her fingers. Somewhere along the line her hiccups had stopped. Already some of the red was beginning to fade away. "Why?"

"I bet one of the robots you've been staying with noticed how sad and scared you were, and called our robot, and told him to bring us over so we could cheer you up," Mikaela said, smile becoming a lot more manageable. Calling the mechs 'robots' managed to make them seem cuter, in a way.

"…Why?" pressed Annabelle, still disbelieving. Her mood had visibly changed from frightened and upset to confused and slightly irritated. There were frustrated creases on her face, showing just how hard she was trying to understand why a mech would try and make her happy, and why she shouldn't be scared of them.

Sam took it from there with a stroke of inspiration. "Because, you know the big black robot?" he whispered down to her conspiratorially. The girl slid her eyes up to look at him. She nodded twice, and Sam had the inkling that she particularly remembered the mech in question. That was good; Sam was pretty certain that Black was technically the girl's owner, not The Doctor. "He thinks he's like another dad to you, and he wants you to be happy."

Annabelle raised her eyebrows. It took more than a little restraint to keep from laughing at the expression. "He's not Daddy," she said forcefully after a moment.

"But he thinks he is," Sam insisted. Mikaela was giving him a curious look, not yet certain herself what Sam was trying to do. While Annabelle was busy staring down at the desk top with an uncanny imitation of seriousness, muttering "he can't be my daddy, he's a robot," over and over again, Sam semi-mouthed, semi-whispered, 'he's the owner – get her to like him.' The revelation washed over Mikaela like a wave.

"…and if you don't like him, he'll probably cry," Mikaela added for good measure. Sam had to grin at her genius (and at the idea of the alien behemoth crying about not being liked).

Little Annabelle's eyebrows shot up even higher. "Cry?" she repeated, finally finding the nerve to look back at the black mech. She swayed as she did so, not able to find her balance for a moment. Black simply continued to keep his attentive optics on her, as did The Doctor and Yellow. When she turned back, there was the faintest hint of a smile to her lips and still-red eyes. "He'd _cry?_ Like a baby?"

Laughing just a little, Sam nodded. "Oh, yes – just like a baby, if he thinks you're scared of him and don't like him. And that's not very nice, is it? Especially when he's only trying to make you happy."

"But… he's scary," Annabelle reasoned at length.

"He just looks a little scary," Mikaela agreed. "But that's not his fault. Maybe he thinks _you_ look scary."

"I'm not scary," Annabelle said with certainty. "I'm just a little girl."

Sam rubbed her head once, and she absentmindedly ducked her head to escape the contact. Black made an interesting noise at the interaction, again prompting the three humans to look at him. The Doctor had backed off from the desk, allowing Yellow to crouch so that he was almost optic-level with them.

"And Black's just a big 'ol robot who wants to protect you and keep you happy. So no more crying, okay?" said Sam.

Annabelle stared at Yellow's face, gently rocking back and forward in her spot. It was probably one of the first times she'd been able to really look at a mech without jumping to the conclusion that she was in jeopardy. She gave a little jump when Yellow twittered at her, but after a second she let out a hesitant giggle.

"He sounds like a bird," Annabelle gave her final judgment, blinking her eyes up at Mikaela first and then at Sam.

"No more crying?" Sam asked again.

"No more crying," said Annabelle, nodding faintly. Sam and Mikaela wouldn't put it past her to cry again, but they could tell she was trying to be sincere. She'd try her best to keep her word.

"Good. Now... you want to go say hi?" Sam ventured. For a second, he thought Mikaela might hit him for trying to push the little girl so fast.

Annabelle paused, looking very apprehensive. "To 'the big 'ol robot?'" she quoted awkwardly, cringing just a little unconsciously. Not crying was one thing. Making small talk with the robot was another.

"Yeah," Sam said, mostly unaffected by Mikaela's look. He gently worked the girl completely away from him and stood. "Like this." Annabelle scooted just a little closer to Mikaela – not wanting to risk being left alone – and stared as Sam walked confidently over to Yellow. Yellow was truly surprised by the approach, his optics moving between Sam and the girl. The mech said something – likely to Black, but both Black and The Doctor responded in reverent quiet – and raised a hand to run a finger down Sam's back. "See?" he addressed the little girl, who was taken aback. "Friendly."

To the teen's happiness, Annabelle looked over at Black and ran her serious eyes all over him

* * *

Ironhide, Ratchet, and Bumblebee had to admit that the experimental venture had proven successful beyond a doubt. The three humans were being excessively gentle with one another, chattering lowly, with the mechs assuming that Signal and Complement were attempting to calm Softspark as if she were their own offspring and not some other partnership's.

Before too long, Bumblebee crouched alongside the desktop, hoping to get a better look at what was going on at the humans' level. Shortly after, however, Signal brushed the youngling with an arm in a way that the more experienced pet owner recognized was playful but that Ironhide wasn't so certain about. His old mentor couldn't contain the ingrained "_**watch it**_" that drew all three organics' attentions.

Against all odds, the interruption resulted in a positive. Bee found the femmeling staring at him before long. His spark gave a pleasant jump at that, and he twittered playfully at her. Then, next thing he knew, Signal had abandoned her and was approaching him. The ex-scout looked between his pet and Ironhide's, suddenly coming to the conclusion that, "_**Primus – I think they're trying to get her to mimic them!**_"

Ironhide glanced down at Bee sharply, taking his optics off Softspark for the first time. "_**What?**_

"_**Maybe they understand the protective benefits of trustworthy mechs,**_" Ratchet hypothesized out loud. How interesting.

Eager to play along to demonstrate their gentility, Bumblebee affectionately pet Signal.

The two females began to move shortly after. Not towards Bumblebee, but towards Ironhide. Complement slowly guided Softspark over to the black mech, intermittently making reassuring noises for the youngling. The young female still didn't look nearly as comfortable as Signal or Complement did, but with the elder of her species right behind her, she was much less stressed.

This was working so much better than they'd ever hoped for it to work!

The mechs stilled themselves completely when at last Complement held Softspark in place a few feet from the edge of the desk and therefore a few feet from Ironhide. Not even believing his luck, Ironhide deliberately raised a hand from his side and let it approach Softspark. Although he diligently watched for resistance, the little femme did nothing more than lean slightly further back into Complement.

In mere astroseconds more, Ironhide discovered that the comfort of an older human was enough to convince a human youngling to allow itself to be pet without being reduced to a stressed, terrified, trembling ball.

"_**Good Complement,**_" Bee praised his femme. "_**Good Signal – and very good Softspark.**_"

None of the mechs had realized just how important the social factor was to humans until now.

"_**Do you think that I could try to pick her up?**_" asked Ironhide, cautiously emboldened now that Complement had taken a couple steps back and Softspark hadn't raced back for protection.

Ratchet scanned the intriguing creatures. "_**I'd normally say no,**_" he started, not allowing Ironhide to get too disappointed before continuing, "_**but you'll have to handle her again eventually. It's probably better to broach that stressor with her while Bumblebee's charges are still around.**_"

They were all fully prepared for Softspark to begin panicking when the weapons specialist lifted his other hand onto the desk and made the slowest motions possible to start picking her up. She didn't cry, not even when the mech used a single finger to help push her up onto his left hand.

Softspark was still uncomfortable about the arrangement, that much was obvious. She fidgeted about uneasily, backing herself into the small indent between two of the mech's protectively curled fingers. Her eyes didn't leak but they did move back and forth a lot. Ironhide used the same comforting-finger technique that Prowl had showed him. This time it had absolutely no discernable affect until…

Ironhide withdrew his gently petting finger when the young Earthling yelped at him. Bumblebee did a double take and Ratchet narrowed a single optic. No, she hadn't yelped at him – it was more like a bark. The noise had been challenging, almost. It was definitely not something he'd expected to hear coming from the tiny and vulnerable creature.

Both Signal and Complement looked to one another when she made her challenge. Since that was the extent of their actions, the true nature of the youngling's behavior went undiagnosed.

"_**Whatever that was,**_" Ironhide ventured with a half-grin on his faceplates, "_**I think I like it better than the crying.**_"

* * *

The last thing Sam or Mikaela anticipated was for Annabelle to find the nerve to say anything directed at a mech. Mikaela couldn't see the girl from where she stood after Black had picked her up, but Sam could, and he recognized the indicators to the kid's discomfort. In an instant, she had stopped moving and fisted her small hands at her sides.

When her little voice cried out "I'm not 'fraid of you! No crying!" loud and stubbornly, they could only look at each other and silently laugh.

One simply could not discredit the pliability of a child's mood.

Black held her for a while longer, bringing the now-feisty Annabelle closer towards his frame and recreating the gentle purring sound that was very similar to one that Yellow frequently produced. There was no crying to be performed by the girl or the mech.

When Black set her back down, he and the other two mechs finally leaving the humans alone for a bit, Annabelle rushed over to Sam and Mikaela.

"He didn't cry! I let him know he wasn't gonna scare me, and he didn't cry!" she told them excitedly. "And he sounds like a kitty cat."

"They sound like cats sometimes when they're trying to cheer you up," Mikaela said. "Even Yellow."

It took some time for the girl to believe that Yellow had to 'cheer them up' on occasion, too. She wound up giggling when the two almost-adults managed to convince her that she wasn't alone and told her that they used to cry about the robots, too.

They spoke and rested with one another for several hours. Black presented the lot of them with some food, but Annabelle was boldly insistent that she be the one to take it (just to make sure the robot knew he didn't scare her and didn't start crying). She took all three packets and then gave one to Sam and Mikaela. They sat in a little triangle and ate their food, not once commenting on the mechs that may or may not have been watching them while they ate.

Annabelle asked a lot of questions about the robots and about Sam and Mikaela, which the teens happily answered. They asked her questions, too, and she did her best to answer them. It seemed that with every question the tone of her voice changed to a slightly different mood. Mikaela and Sam did their best not to show their amusement.

From what they'd asked, they garnered that Annabelle's father had probably been a soldier of some sort and that he, she, and her mother probably lived at one of the 'Safe Points.' Annabelle didn't know for certain if her parents had been taken or not – and Sam and Mikaela did not try to press her for fear of sparking bad memories – but the mech that had caught her had trapped her babysitter, too, and he had been 'really mean.' She had been kept with a few other kids near her age, but they'd gone away a long time ago (she couldn't give a definite answer on how long ago she'd been taken; the teens guesstimated at least three or four months). Also, she had had a different owner before now, but he hadn't been especially 'nice' either. Just the other day, she said, she'd been given to a different mech, and that mech had brought her here and left her.

As interested as Sam and Mikaela were about finding out everything they could about the girl, inevitably, Yellow had to go back home. The carrier cage the smaller mech placed off to the side of the desk top to signal his desire to leave prompted a few more questions from Annabelle, namely what the funny object was for.

"It's so Yellow can take us back home," Sam said calmly, hoping Annabelle wouldn't be too upset.

The girl didn't seem to like that idea one bit.

"But I don't want you to go!" she told the two of them, pleading with her eyes, begging them to stay.

Mikaela pet the girl on the head, glancing knowingly to the side. Yellow was starting to make his own crooning noise; the teenagers thought he had to be contemplating whether to try working the three of them apart or not. "It's okay," she said. "I'm sure we'll see you again sometime soon, and you'll be just fine. Black's looking out for you, remember?"

Yellow made the decision to gently intervene by extending a hand to suggest separation. Sam and Mikaela both took the time to give Annabelle a parting hug.

"Just try not to make any of the robots here cry while we're gone, alright?" Sam pressed, once again hoping to get a promise out of her.

Annabelle looked over at all three mechs in the room.

"I'll try," she offered after a short while. She was back to looking a mix between happy and sad.

"That's good," both Sam and Mikaela told her. Then they allowed Yellow to half-heartedly usher them toward the carrier.

* * *

Bumblebee felt bad about breaking up the bonding organics, he truly did, but he knew he couldn't keep Signal and Complement there all day. Little Softspark was indeed something special. Observing the reluctance with which the mated couple left the youngling, Bee really began to wonder why his humans didn't have offspring of their own. Their interactions with Softspark made it seem like they would be great parents – attentive and just protective enough to still allow mechs near.

Well, that was a question once again left for another time. Ironhide came over to pick Softspark up once Complement and Signal were both in the carrier; he didn't want to leave the young one alone again so soon.

"_**So, uh, we'll stop by again by the end of the orn. Unless she backtracks and you think she needs these guys again before that,**_" Bee planned out ahead of time.

Ironhide agreed with a quiet mumble. He was busy petting Softspark, quietly thrilled and drowned with relief that the little one was so calm in his hands now.

"_**She obviously benefits from spending time with the matured of her species,**_" Ratchet confirmed, gaze switching between the caged adults and the youngling in Ironhide's palm. "_**Don't be hesitant in bringing them over when your schedule willingly permits, now so even more than before.**_"

Just like the last time he'd left the Ark, Bee promised to try not to keep his pets solely to himself.

On the return trip home he couldn't help hugging the carrier proudly to his chassis. "_**See?**_" he told Signal and Complement. "_**Everyone loves you, doesn't matter what species!**_"

The few cycles following the introduction of Softspark to Signal and Complement were without incident. Bumblebee was both happy that he didn't receive a distressed call – because, obviously, that meant the young female was holding up well – and secretly, selfishly disappointed – because that meant that he didn't have an excuse to drop what he was doing and visit. He did get a couple random, entertaining messages of Ironhide thanking him for helping the youngling out, which Bee responded to pleasantly.

He spent a lot of time those cycles praising his pets for being such wonderful, perfect humans. Bumblebee made sure to try joining them in their doodling. Initially the two were put off by his desire to turn that activity of theirs into a group practice. After a breem or so, they warmed up to the idea.

Some of the markings the humans made reminded Bee of a curious habit that a five legged species from a planet a couple galaxies over had exhibited once. The seblings, as the race had been called, were the most numerous species on their planet. While definitively not possessing the gift of higher processing – the blank stares from their three, slatted eyes had been something else – seblings had a funny tendency to etch rough copies of shapes and figures they'd seen into the soft dirt of their home world.

Perceptor had been convinced that the creatures were sentient because of that habit of theirs, but long and exhausting studies revealed that it was just another method with which the seblings interacted with their environment. Unable to actually process any information meaningfully, they recited it through scribbles.

A pilgrimage around the universe would uncover an inconceivably large variety of species and behaviors.

Bee was curious to know if the traders or the biologists knew anything about this behavioral quirk of humans.

The fourth cycle following, Bumblebee noticed he was running low on food and water refills for his pets. He had a meeting out at the easternmost construction district that cycle – he could stop by Dropkick's establishment on the way back and get what he needed then.

After presenting Signal and Complement with the last of the fresh Earth foods he'd had, Bumblebee set out to attend the meeting and run his errands.

Locking the door behind him, Bee had to pause and take in the rush of comfort that ran over him due a crossover of memory files. Maul and Tiptop were gone now. This time when he left, he didn't have to worry about coming back and finding that something unspeakable had befallen his innocent housemates.

Bee clicked happily to himself. It was a great feeling.

…

The members of the construction surveillance team, Bee included, were bored out of their frames by the time the meeting was over. Hands down, Bumblebee decided during his run to Dropkick's, applying a sealant to all the cracks on a retired warship would have been more entertaining… and quite possibly a much more useful allocation of his time.

Bee wasn't too far from the human store when his communications systems alerted him of an incoming hail. The ex-scout didn't change pace but he did permit the introductory blip to come up on display.

/ _**Bumblebee, this is Inferno, **_/ the message played itself over in the mech's processors.

/ _**Inferno? **_/ Bee replied with only the slightest, excited hesitation. He hadn't heard from Inferno in forever. The mech had been stationed first in another colony, Expacon, and then planet bound in Stanix, so the lack of prior contact wasn't very surprising. / _**It's been ages. What's going on? **_/

Digital laughter preceded actual speech over the radio link. / _**It **_**has**_** been a while, hasn't it? I'm in Verita Pax right now – got here not that long ago. I ran into Beachcomber at one of the warping docks, and we were talking about you. I was wondering if I couldn't stop by you guys' home for a bit before I had to head out on business. Got something to tell you that 'Comber said you might like to hear, **_/ Inferno added.

/ _**Sounds great,**_ / Bee told him. He halted and glanced around the street. / _**How far away are you from our address? **_/

/ _**Maybe a breem,**_ / said Inferno.

Bee kept walking. / _**You'll beat me home – I'm at least four breems out. I'll send you the access code. Just…**_ / The connection dropped to silence for a moment.

/ _**Just…?**_ / Inferno repeated, curious.

/ _**Just keep an optic out for my pet humans, **_/ he finished with a weak smile that he knew the other mech couldn't possibly see. Why was he never home when it seemed that people wanted to come over? / _**They haven't exactly had the best experiences with strange mechs wandering in when I'm not around.**_ /

* * *

**A.N.** So – cute? Not? Either way, it was fun to write. I started, and the next thing I knew, my guideline of 8000 words was surpassed. Only 1 person – who was semi-joking – accurately guessed that it would be Annabelle appearing. Given the 'cliché' aspect of the Ironhide/Annabelle thing in the fandom, I was a tad surprised… but at the same time, not, because it's more plausible (*cough*canon*cough*) that it would've been Will. Don't worry, those who hoped it would be Will – I won't say you'll be seeing him soon, but I will say that you'll be seeing him. And to the Miles people out there – patience, grasshoppers; all in due time.

Also, sorry to those of you who thought that our duo's writings would give them away. Cybertronians have seen a _lot_ of things resembling sentience that aren't (an example of which I provided in this chapter to help make my stance on that a little more understandable), so… it'd probably take more faith than hard logic for a mech to make the stretch about humans… :)

More post chapter comments: 1) As if Sam would ever hurt a kid. Silly robots. 2) I love reviews. 3) 'Nother wager time! Not counting Inferno, let's play 'guess the next ex-Bot to show up.' Now, _guess that (ex)Bot!_


	9. Things to Come

**Title: **Property Of

**Rating: **T

**Summary:** During Cybertronian 'peace,' ex-Cons hide the sentience of and sell humans as pets to secure Earth. Sam and Mikaela might just be the first to grasp the reality of the situation alongside their new owner.

**Chapter:** Things to Come

This chapter should have been out forever ago, and I feel especially bad because it was never meant to be an 'actiony/incredibly fun' chapter (unlike the next one). I do have legitimate reasons, though. Not only has the month of May, from beginning until midday on the 21st, been full of exams and studying, my dog of 14 years (as of the 22nd) was having a hard time during the last stages of her life, especially the last couple months. We had to put her to sleep on the 25th… Needless to say, it's been a rough time for me lately, and I hope you understand why the wait was so long as a result – and I thank you for waiting as long as you have. At least the next update should come a lot quicker.

Oh. And to 'anon' reviewers - if someone leaves a review asking about update times, I generally do not mind. Plenty of others do, and I tend to respond to most of them. It's not that I'm trying to ignore you, and I _really_ wish I could respond to some of you (i.e. **gammon-is-a-fish** and **randomness621**), but I have no way of doing so. I looked up both of the aforementioned, in case you reviewed while not logged in so I could reply, but found no accounts. *cries* Why do you not have accounts? Coincidentally, in regards to the second name, it's funny you should worry about an update the day before I post one... that seems to be a very strange coincidental trend with this story... o.O (though, as an aside, an actual account would eliminate the need to check for updates; the e-mail notifications would take care of that for you).

One final 'Pre' Script: there is no need to worry about this story being abandoned. If I ever _did_ wind up abandoning anything, I would be man (girl) enough to warn readers and then provide a conclusive outline; I've had too many writers pull that sort of thing on me to want to put anyone else through that. Do not lose hope. Have faith! : )

Now... on with the fic. And _please _alert me to any typos.

* * *

"I sure hope that girl's doing okay," Mikaela ventured. "It's been a while." In her hand were apple seeds that she had bitten out of Yellow's latest treat, which she fiddled with. Sam was debating whether or not it would be worth it to flick the little things around to practice his aim. The pair was inside Yellow's room, slouched against the wall to the immediate left of the doorway, quite relaxed.

Sam weighed his options and determined that it really wasn't worth it. "I think that as long as The Doctor doesn't go poking her with needles, she'll be fine."

Mikaela snapped her eyes to him. "You don't think he'd do that, do you?"

"Couldn't say," Sam said honestly. Then, coming to the conclusion that he should have just told his girlfriend what she wanted to hear, he amended, "But seriously. I don't think Black would let him."

When Mikaela started to say "true," the apartment door opened. The unmistakable sound of a mech's footsteps permeated the air. After a hesitation, the teenagers shared their tentative looks.

They had been left alone for some time now, and thankfully without complications. That could very well be Yellow coming home and not the green and purple mechs up to no good, right? Besides – they could only hear one set of footsteps, and these weren't stomping up and down the place trying to locate them.

Since he was closest to the door, Sam stood and leaned around the frame. Upon seeing nothing, he leaned a little further out into the hall…

"Oh, hell no. Strange robot at twelve o'clock," Sam hissed, drawing immediately back into the room. He pressed himself against the wall tightly, feeling not unlike James Bond. The mech he'd glanced had been neither purple nor green, but most importantly, he hadn't been yellow – or the blue-white-grays of Softie. Red. The stranger had been red, Sam was certain.

Mikaela perked up, sitting upright slowly. The glint in her eyes betrayed her nervousness. "Yellow's with him, right?"

Sam hesitated long and hard. The glance had been too brief to make a good call. Yellow was light in step, so it was possible that the new mech had been escorted and Yellow had just been out of sight. It wasn't like the hallway showed the entire front room. Trying to picture himself as a ninja, Sam leaned sneakily around the large doorframe. This time not even the red mech was in visual range. Even more sneakily, Sam tiptoed completely around the door and into the hall, moving his head at different angles while he approached the end of the corridor.

There! Sam jumped and pulled back when he spotted the red mech, but calmed when he registered that it was facing the other way. By leaning forward a bit he ascertained that the mech was studying the things on Softie's desk-table. Sam glanced around the rest of the room and was utterly anxious to find that Yellow was nowhere to be seen.

Sam quickly backtracked to the bedroom, motioning for Mikaela to get to the safety of the berth.

"No sign of our owner," he informed, slipping down to slide beneath the elevated metal slab. "Never seen this mech before in my life, ever, and it looks like he's snooping." The stranger wasn't going on some psychotic rampage and seeking them out, that was a bonus. Didn't mean he was good news, though.

Mikaela didn't need to be told twice. She was under the berth alongside her boyfriend in record time and record silence.

Maybe ten minutes passed under Yellow's bed. Mikaela had the idea to conceal themselves further by pulling their blankets over them, just in case Red decided it was okay to rearrange furniture like Green and Purple had. As they feared, the humans eventually wound up staring worriedly at a pair of metal feet just outside Yellow's room. They placed hands over their mouths to quiet their breathing even more, not daring to do a single thing to give away their position. Although he paused for a long moment in the doorway beforehand, Red walked into the room. He made his way over to the berth, hesitating after almost every step. Sam and Mikaela quietly inched further under their blankets and away from the unknown and thus very frightening feet before them.

Another minute passed in silence and stillness. Neither teen could guess what it was Red was doing simply standing there. Then, no questions asked, the mech left the room like nothing had happened. From the sound of his footsteps, he was returning to the main room, but wasn't leaving.

Still silent, Sam and Mikaela grew openly incredulous and increasingly befuddled.

"I want to go check this out," Sam announced randomly a minute later, hushed. "He is the strangest robber or spy that I've ever seen."

Somewhat surprisingly, Mikaela answered, "So do I."

Actually going to 'check him out' was something else. Wariness kept them in place for a while longer. Once they finally worked up the nerve, the pair made their way out from under the berth. Yet, as they were approaching the hallway, the door to the apartment unit opened, and the sounds of another mech entering made themselves clear.

In silent agreement, neither teenager moved forward. That they didn't retreat either was a testament to their dedication in finding out just what the heck was going on.

Rather than the newcomer joining in on the mini house invasion, it sounded as though furniture was being moved. Subsequently, there was talking.

_Okay, now_, Mikaela thought; _who breaks in and sits around having a conversation?_

She and Sam nodded and continued with their original quest.

Half way down the comparatively narrow stretch of floor, Sam and Mikaela identified the second mech instantly as Yellow himself. Adding two and two together, they surmised that Red was probably there on Yellow's invitation, and had – for whatever reason – arrived earlier than Yellow. Nothing too suspicious about that, really… The mechs were absorbed in not-very-lively conversation. Sam noted a new addition to the room that took the shape of a mass of boxes right next to his and Mikaela's makeshift bed.

They dashed quickly to hide behind the pile of stuff while the two mechs were still caught up in talking to one another and looking at something on the desk. It wasn't that Sam and Mikaela didn't trust Yellow, they simply didn't trust this unprecedented newcomer who was definitely larger than Yellow, and looked far more intimidating. From the cover of the boxes they could gauge the stranger before acting further.

* * *

Bee entered his apartment to find Inferno already there, tapping purposefully on one of the wall tiles. The larger mech turned at his entrance and beamed.

"_**Bumblebee – it's great to actually see you face to face again,**_" the ex-Autobot greeted. He stepped away from the wall, getting closer to Bee but never actually touching him. Bee responded in kind, gesturing to the chair at his desk. While Inferno sat with the permission granted, Bumblebee borrowed Beachcomber's unused desk chair. "_**You might want to get that panel checked,**_" said Inferno as an extension to his greeting. "_**Not certain, but if Red's managed to teach me anything useful, I think there might be a bug back there.**_"

"_**You're probably right,**_" Bee acquiesced. He'd gone on a mission to remove any recording or monitoring devices his ex-room mates might have left behind, and while he had found a couple, he'd been expecting more. The ex-scout didn't even ask how Inferno came to his assessment. "_**How is Red Alert anyway?**_" he asked instead, not wanting the memory of Maul and Tiptop to bring him down.

Inferno shrugged. "_**He's good – very Red Alert-like in the reconstruction and refortification of Stanix. He's already sparked up some plans for updating Kalis's defenses again, too,**_" he said, with no shortage of amusement. "_**Red's in his element and it shows. But what about you? 'Comber and I talked about you, and he said you'd been seeing Ratchet and Ironhide recently.**_"

"_**Yeah, we're all good here. Ironhide might be slowly melting his processors not being allowed to go shoot up Decepticons, but he's managing. Not to mention, they just got a human the other day,**_" Bee said with a laugh.

"_**A human, huh? I've seen a few of 'em, and Red's always on about how they might be trying to infiltrate our society or some nonsense,**_" Inferno waved his hand carelessly, "_**I don't own any myself. What about yours? I've been here some five or so breems, and I haven't seen either of them. I looked – not invasively, of course – but I didn't find them anywhere.**_" Here, Inferno was sincerely concerned. He had never been fitted with the proper tech to run bioscans, but he would've thought a human would be easy enough to locate in a home like this, let alone two. There were only so many places one could hide itself.

Bumblebee whirred regretfully. A quick check on Signal and Complement's tracers confirmed that they were still in the house, so he knew he had nothing serious to worry about. "_**They're probably afraid of you. Like I said over the comm., they've had bad experiences with strange mechs. Do you remember Maul and Tiptop?**_" The names were lost on Inferno for a second, though he eventually nodded. "_**They threatened my pets twice, losing them in the process the second time. If Wheeljack hadn't run across them, they'd probably still be lost, if not injured or dead.**_"

"_**That's terrible,**_" Inferno said, appalled. He'd never been a very violent type himself. "_**They were properly charged for it, right?**_"

"_**Well, they were forced to move. That was enough for me,**_" replied Bumblebee. In retrospect, he probably could have tried to find tangible evidence and really serve the two ex-Cons the punishment they deserved, but the time for that was long gone now. Best not to dwell on it. "_**Really, what're you doing here? And what did 'Comber want you to tell me?**_"

Inferno's optics glinted. "_**Business. You probably heard something about it, being involved with the construction to the east. I was sent as an envoy for Red and his business; we're working out the kinks in the safety and defense protocols and installations for the expansion sites. Not just in Verita Pax, but a bunch of the other colonies, too.**_" He gave a weak shrug. "_**It's not particularly fun, but a necessity, especially since Cybertron Command's master plan is to have synchronized measures everywhere. See, the news I have for you and the others, it's…?**_" The mech's optics trailed slightly to the side, freezing on something. "_**Hey, there they are,**_" Inferno interrupted himself, nodding with his head to where he'd been looking. Bumblebee followed his former comrade's gaze and, sure enough, there were both of his humans. Complement was – startlingly – the closer of the two. The pair seemed to be in the middle of approaching, though at a cautiously slow pace due to Inferno's presence. Now they were still, uncertain of Inferno's attention.

Bee smiled and turned in his seat. "_**That's Complement, closer to us. I'm surprised Signal's not leading, though. He's normally the more daring…**_" Signal and Complement were studying him, trying to find out what they should do now.

Bumblebee lowered his hands invitingly to the floor, gesturing for the pair of them to approach and let him lift them onto the desktop. The two humans shared what he thought to be apprehensive looks of sorts, although they did, ultimately, wander forward to Bee's waiting hands.

Complement first was lifted onto his desk. She stuck close to him with her eyes on Inferno as Signal was raised.

* * *

Mikaela felt emboldened with Yellow right next to her. She took the opportunity to measure Red up without fear of retribution. The mech was examining her as well, and he seemed very interested in Sam once he was placed on the desk. His optics were blue, too – and somewhere in the back of her mind, just maybe she was starting to see a correlation there between blue and nonthreatening; she wasn't sure yet.

"What are we dealing with?" asked Sam calmly. He gathered that Newbie couldn't be too bad if his gaze – softly excited and reminiscent of Yellow's – was to be trusted.

Yellow and Red began talking. Sam didn't even flinch when Yellow started rubbing at his back.

"I don't know. He seems safe enough," Mikaela answered.

The two aliens continued to speak with one another, presumably about them. Red cautiously extended an arm and held his hand out for the humans to inspect. Sam and Mikaela regarded the appendage with mixed expressions, amused and yet bored. Very, very briefly, Sam played with the idea of snarling like a dog who didn't like a hand it'd been offered. Since he received no negative feedback, Red closed the gap and rubbed a fingertip in tiny circles on Mikaela's head. He said something while doing so that made Yellow's gears churn erratically, which the teens interpreted as laughter.

Red's fascination with them waned over time, although not entirely. Mikaela and Sam settled themselves towards the back of the desk so that they were out of the mechs' way, near the middle but unconsciously closer to Yellow. While the mechs talked, Red kept glancing at them.

The humans imagined he was smiling each time he did so.

In all, Red wasn't the most intriguing of mechs. He seemed almost _too_ normal. Still, Sam agreed with Mikaela that they preferred his normality to Green or Purple's psychosis.

To pass the time and stave off boredom – geez, how had they managed to find entertainment in anything beforehand if sitting feet from alien robots on an alien world could get so painfully boring so quickly – boyfriend and girlfriend argued about Red's true color.

"Fire truck red," was Sam's instant stance.

Mikaela laughed once. "Have you ever seen a fire truck, Sam? That is so not what color he is. I'd say… a few tones shy of red delicious apples."

"If we're going with foods, it's more like a tomato," said Sam.

"Closer to apple, I think," she insisted.

"And I think closer to fire truck."

"… Oh, maybe you're right…" she tilted her head to the side. Red noticed the motion and gave them another brief smile, pleased with their interest in him. "From this angle, it does sort of look like that with the way the light's hitting the metal… Still, in general, I'm sticking with apple."

"… I could really go for another apple right about now."

And so on and so forth.

At least until Yellow's fingers splayed on the table and his palm pressed tightly into it, drawing the eyes of both humans. The mech leaned forward in his chair, fingers once again shifting, but this time to get a better hold on the table. Yellow's ventilation system shuddered, making a high, brief sound. Sam and Mikaela gave the mech their full attention, eyes widened to take in every detail. Their owner's optics visibly increased in brightness and he made a distinctly delighted sound; Red performed the diagonal alien nod, and Yellow seemed to become even happier.

"Good news?" Mikaela asked.

Sam forgot how to speak for a minute. He was too absorbed in the surreal behavior of the aliens. Yellow had degraded into excited talking, evidenced by a faster pace and recognizably higher pitch. One of Sam's eyebrows had risen of its own accord.

At last, he looked away. His girlfriend was waiting for a response. Realizing he had also forgotten what she'd said, he asked her to repeat.

"I said, 'do you think he got good news?'" she said.

"Oh," mumbled Sam. Then he grinned. "_Oh_ yeah. Maybe he just saved fifteen percent or more on car insurance."

Mikaela pulled a face. "One of the few things I don't miss about Earth." Even when telecommunications had been rendered useless, that annoying and persistent green lizard had shown up everywhere. More than once he had even haunted her dreams…

Ignorant to Mikaela's mental disgust and Sam's amusement, the mechs continued their conversation, much livelier than they had been before.

* * *

Two cycles after Inferno's visit found Bumblebee on his way back to the Ark, Signal and Complement kept quietly and calmly in their carrier. Soon, thought Bee, he wanted to start seeing if the two of them could be trained to follow him without the carrier having to be used; the thing wasn't heavy, but it was relatively large, and he could see it becoming a hassle in some situations.

He'd messaged Ironhide well ahead of time, informing him and Ratchet of his visit. His old weapons trainer had welcomed news of the visit and told him that Wheeljack was there as well.

Bumblebee had proceeded to ask if he or Ratchet or anyone else had seen Prime.

Ironhide had been confused by the randomness of the question.

"**_Inferno was over a couple cycles ago – he said Optimus was in colony on business or something,_**" Bumblebee had happily explained. "**_He's supposed to be here for another three cycles after today. Inferno didn't even know his schedule, just said it was pretty packed. I was just wondering if he'd stopped by or either of you knew any more about it._**"

As it turned out, no, Optimus had not been by, they had not seen him, and all of this was news to Ironhide. Ratchet had been none the wiser. Briefly, Bumblebee had been worried that maybe Prime's presence wasn't supposed to be a well-known thing. But, Inferno hadn't suggested it was a secret visit or anything of that sort, so Bee managed to free himself from the beginnings of guilt.

Right now he was just hoping to spend more time with his ex-comrades and check up on little Softspark.

The walk was blissfully uneventful, without so much as a communiqué to interrupt him. There were more mechs on the streets than usual, or so Bumblebee perceived, and still nothing unexpected came of it. It was like a reprieve from Primus.

Bumblebee signaled Ratchet for entrance several paces from the ship's door so that he didn't need to stop walking. Wheeljack quickly confirmed that the lot of them, Softspark included, were gathered in the rec room.

Bee distantly wondered if they _ever_ met anywhere else on the ship.

The three older mechs were all seated at the center table. Oddly enough, it was the side farthest from the door that remained unoccupied. Bumblebee tapped an elbow on the door frame – his hands were too busy holding onto the carrier – to announce his arrival. The ex-Autobots looked over at him and waved, Ratchet raising an energon cube to him.

"_**Take some pressure off your gears. We were just talking about the time Hoist got himself trapped in a shipping crate,**_" said the medic.

"_**With Sunstreaker's assistance, of course,**_" Wheeljack clarified.

Bumblebee remembered hearing about that incident. The ex-scout moved around the table steadily, catching sight of Softspark near one of Ironhide's idle hands. She was tapping the top of the table with her fingers. "_**Didn't Hoist insult his paintjob?**_"

"_**His recent upgrades,**_" corrected Ironhide with a partial grin.

Softspark only then noticed Bee's arrival. She turned her organic eyes upwards and tilted her head quizzically to the side. Bumblebee placed his humans' carrier on the table, finally in Softspark's line of sight.

Softspark was ecstatic to see her fellow humans again. She gave a pleased-sounding cry and nearly tripped over herself in her effort to get to the carrying cage. Bumblebee trilled happily at her approach, using one hand to open the carrier and the other to rub the excited youngling on the head. "_**Don't worry, youngling. You'll have your makeshift parents back in a moment.**_"

Bee managed to release the holds with a single hand fairly quickly. Complement was the first out, crouching and enveloping Softspark with her limbs defensively. It was like she was ensuring that the youth was still safe. Signal glanced around at the four observant mechs. As soon as Complement released the younger human, he brushed her affectionately with a limb of his own; Softspark gave one of his legs a clingy squeeze, to which Signal didn't seem the least bit offended.

"_**Isn't that the strangest thing?**_" whispered Wheeljack, as if afraid his voice alone would stop the intriguing behavior. To have two adults treat a foreign offspring like she was their own was a primitive type of altruism. Amongst organics, altruism in any form was not an altogether common trait.

"_**They are interesting little slaggers, I'll give them that,**_" consented Ratchet.

The ex-Autobots watched the strange reunion respectfully, certainly not intending to interrupt the aliens.

Bumblebee asked how the youngling had been coping the past few cycles. Presently, she was practically hopping in place while both Signal and Complement watched her with what Bee imagined was confusion. Having never had a youngling of their own (as far as he knew), he wasn't surprised they'd be at something of a loss in response to some of Softspark's actions.

Apparently she'd been well. Ironhide said the femmeling had not resorted to her eye-leaking again, and had also not resorted to hiding herself away. "_**In fact,**_" he told Bee, "_**she's been pretty sociable since your two humans bolstered her confidence.**_" When she was placed on a desktop or tabletop that Ironhide was seated at, she was certain to stay near to him. She had even let Ratchet run some of his rudimentary scans on her to record her average organic vitals for future reference.

Wheeljack chuckled softly. "_**We'll probably never understand these guys fully. I'd love to take a trip to their home world and see just what kind of environment they're really adapted to.**_" The engineer silently studied the three creatures. If he wasn't much mistaken, Softspark was acting incredibly restless now. Bee's adult humans were intermittently looking around, like they were searching for something to entertain them, and fiddling with the bouncy youngling.

The mech felt suddenly like he'd been put on the spot. None of the others seemed to notice the apparent boredom plaguing the helpless organics. Frankly, Wheeljack didn't blame the creatures. Any organic with a brain – no matter how simple it was – would drop into disastrous boredom if not given enough things to occupy its time with. It was a horrible consequence of domestication, he supposed. There most certainly was nothing that could entertain the humans on the table, especially if he, Bee, 'Hide, and Ratchet planned on talking for a while (which they did).

Wheeljack did the only thing he could think of that would benefit the organics. He scooped Signal and Complement into his hands with only the slightest protest and set them on the ground. Then he took Softspark in hand and placed her next to her elders on the ground. The lot of them blinked around at the room. His ex-teammates stopped their discussion.

"_**What do you think you're doing?**_" demanded Ironhide. What was Wheeljack thinking, taking the humans off the table and leaving them on the floor? He was fine with Signal being lowered, the same with Complement, but when Softspark was placed on the ground… He would've stood up and gone to retrieve them had the medic to his left not extended an arm to keep him from doing so.

"_**Ah, let them go, 'Hide,**_" Ratchet dismissed. "_**They'll be fine. The ship's in first stage lockdown, and I'm sure Bee's humans won't let Softspark get lost or injured. Wheeljack's probably just thinking of them, offering them something to do with their time other than lounge about up here while we talk.**_"

Though Wheeljack nodded and began to outline the negative side affects that could come with boredom, the weapons specialist did not appear too convinced. However, before he knew it, Softspark was prancing out around the doorway with Complement and then Signal following at a slightly quicker pace behind her. Bumblebee waved goodbye to his pets although he knew they weren't looking. Wheeljack's photosensitive fins flickered brightly until the organics were out of sight, pleased to see them energetic.

Ironhide only calmed because he recognized he had little choice to do otherwise.

"_**Well. Where were we?**_" prompted Ratchet.

* * *

Neither Sam nor Mikaela were surprised that Yellow's little journey had ended once again at the huge space building. However, they _were_ happy to get to check up on Annabelle. The teens straightened in their carrier the deeper they got into the building, already somewhat recognizing the path from the entrance to the gathering room that was always their first stop here.

Before even spotting Annabelle, they noted that Flashy was back. He, Black, and The Doctor were positioned around the center table, which was clear save for three different cubes which, from this angle, appeared to hold faintly glowing contents. Everyone began exchanging greetings. It was only when Black lazily raised and lowered a couple fingers in welcome that Mikaela and then Sam spotted Annabelle.

The little girl sat on the table right in front of Black. Whatever she had been doing to entertain herself was long interrupted; her head was craned back, and the second she caught sight of them through the bars of the carrier, she broke out in a smile.

Yellow placed the entire cage on the table and picked at the locks. He had to pause when Annabelle made a beeline right for them, excitedly calling out their names, stopping only when she was right next to the cage.

Mikaela waited for Yellow to hold the door ajar before hopping out, crouching, and hugging the girl.

"Hey, Annie. Long time no see. How've you been?" she asked.

The kid giggled once. "Good. I've been extra nice to Black, and he hasn't cried once."

"That's a good girl," Mikaela grinned. She pulled back and let Sam say his hello, which he accompanied with a playful tussling of the girl's blondish hair. Annie definitely found this amusing, because she laughed and hugged Sam's leg.

"Missed you," said Annabelle. "What're we gon' do now?"

Mikaela and Sam blinked at one another. She was asking them? Neither teen had any idea what they could possibly do. Mostly they were expected to lie around and do nothing. Only problem was, how were they supposed to explain that to an excitable four-and-a-half year-old? Yellow at least had those writing screens. There was absolutely nothing on this table to do, unless one counted pestering the mechs or trying to climb into the glowing contents of the cubes – and Sam felt like there was a pretty good chance that what was in the cubes was the same stuff Yellow had screeched at them for approaching, so that option was out..

"What do _you_ want to do?" Sam ventured. The four aliens were chatting amongst themselves, and Yellow had taken his seat. He looked around the room for an answer as to what could be done without props. "Charades?"

"…What?" Annabelle asked. The term was unfamiliar to her. "Something fun," she answered, not dwelling on the unknown word. "Like hopscotch. Or jump rope. Or a tea party!"

The teens gave each other amused yet hopeless looks. Jump rope was out of the question, and hopscotch was only doable with the ability to imagine the lines and bean bag – and they doubted how long Annie could keep that up, not to mention he had no idea how the game was played. Tea parties, on the other hand, were mostly imaginary anyway. Well, Sam assumed they were. He'd never really been into tea parties in his day, so he couldn't be sure. As long as it was for the sake of a kid's sanity, though…

"Okay, Annabelle. Tea party it is…? Hey!" Sam looked sharply up at Flashy. The mech had just knocked him over, and now he and Mikaela were sprawled in his hands. Before he knew it, the two of them were on the ground, with Annabelle calling after them. "What the hell?" he hissed at Mikaela. Who did Flashy think he was, acting like he owned them?

Oh. Oh yeah, Sam thought dryly, all previous thoughts about unfair treatment drifting out of his mind. Mechs _did_ own humans.

It wasn't just them who was lowered. A still-bouncy Annabelle was placed next to them only a short while later. She seemed to have enjoyed the ride, regardless of the commotion that now appeared to be going on at the table.

Mikaela pointed covertly at the open door to the room. Boyfriend and girlfriend smiled cleverly at one another. Flashy had just given them an answer to channeling Annabelle's energy.

"So, how much of this place have you seen?" Sam queried.

Annabelle blinked guilelessly at him. "Is there a lot to see? 'Cause I've seen this room. And a couple hallways. Oh! And where Black sleeps."

In other words, she'd seen barely any of the gigantic structure.

"Do you want to go exploring?" continued Sam. It would be a good use of time, right? He and Mikaela had only managed to get so far the one time they'd ventured out and around the ship. Instead of getting a good grasp on the area, space had just seemed to expand, revealing more and more ship to map out. Besides, Yellow would find them if they had to leave or he wanted them back, and they wouldn't have been put on the floor with the door still open if they weren't expected to roam.

"Go 'sploring?" Annabelle repeated, just slightly mumbling. For a moment she studied the ground, and then she looked up. Her eyes were bright, a grin all over her face. Instead of answering, she skipped off through the door.

That was answer enough. Mikaela jogged after her. Taking merely a split second to laugh to himself, Sam quickly went after them.

"Do you know where things are?" posited Annabelle. She halted her skipping and marveled at the expanse of the hallway and the various options she could take. Left, right, forward, forward then left, forward then right, right then forward then left then… well, the possibilities were endless.

"Not really," Mikaela told her. "That's why we need to explore."

"Oh." The girl tilted her head back and looked all around the hallway. "Gotta find the kitchen. Maybe they have sandwiches!" She continued prancing, taking the immediate right.

Neither teen had the heart to tell her there wouldn't be any sandwiches even if they did find the robots' mess hall, and simply responded with "maybe."

Before Sam could ask Annabelle the question that had been on his mind for some time – how long ago was she taken – she asked, "How nice is Yellow?"

The question was bordering on random. Still, Mikaela was pretty quick in answering, "Very nice. He gave Sam and me lots of blankets and food and attention, and we even get fruit sometimes. He lets us run around his house, and lets us come visit over here. Even though he's a big robot, he's really very nice."

"And what about Black?" asked Sam. "How nice is he?"

"Nice," she agreed. She reached her hand out into the air, waving it about for someone to grab. Mikaela took the grasping palm just as they turned a corner into a short hallway. "He got me a blankie, too. It's really soft. Daddy gave me a blankie like it."

"Oh?" Sam said absentmindedly to keep the conversation going.

Annie vigorously nodded. "Uh huh. 'Cept, he gave me a pink one. This one's yellow."

"Annabelle, when was it that the robots picked you up? Do you remember when or how, and how you came to be with Black?" Mikaela questioned softly. She, too, was curious, but was fretful of awakening painful memories.

The little girl's energy level dropped some at the inquiry. "A while ago," was her only time estimate. It wasn't especially helpful – a while could be a whole range of things. "Mommy and Daddy were moving people. I had a babysitter. The mean robots came and took us, and I didn't see Mommy or Daddy again. There was lots of other people, too," she said, nodding sadly. "A big blue robot took me, and I didn't see Carly anymore," Annabelle added. Sam and Mikaela assumed Carly had been the babysitter.

"A blue robot?" Mikaela repeated. "Then how did you wind up here?"

"One day another robot came and took me again. He was white and black and quiet. I didn't like him then, so I think he was sad," she reasoned. It made sense with what Sam and Mikaela had told her. She'd been crying and afraid the whole time, so no wonder the robot had been so quiet and sad himself! "Then he gave me to Black. Then after a while, you showed up!" finished Annabelle excitedly. She swung Mikaela's arm back and forth. "Now I don't hafta be alone." She smiled innocently up at them. "How'd Yellow find you?"

"We didn't have such an exciting time. We went with him the moment we got here," Sam explained. He found it all somewhat amazing. A few days ago he thought the girl would never recover. Now, it seemed like she was handling the ordeal better than he had.

Well, it was probably just her naivety and childhood ignorance letting her escape much of the problem, but still.

Another "oh" was her response.

Sam steered the conversation back to something more fun, asking Annabelle about all her favorite foods and games and when her birthday was. In order, they were bologna, jump rope, and June seventh. When Sam tried to recall what day it had been when Tranquility was being evacuated, and he, Mikaela, and Miles taken, he drew a blank.

He found it frightening how quickly he could forget.

"Maybe we could find the wire room again," Sam thought out loud. They had already spent over ten minutes wandering at this point, and, frankly, their exploring had only revealed more doors and corridors. "It's worth a try. Some of the wires could probably be used to make jump ropes," he both stated and asked. Mikaela gave him a nod, agreeing that they probably could make decent jump ropes.

So, the humans began actively seeking out the wire room, albeit with very little hope that they'd actually find it. The walk was still a way to pass the time nevertheless.

After another ten minutes – without triumph – Sam stopped walking.

"What's wrong?" Mikaela asked, concerned.

"Do… Did you hear that?" he murmured, eyes widening to try and take in every detail. Mikaela gave the hall a cursory once over before shaking her head. Sam frowned. "I could've sworn… There was definitely something," he insisted.

Mikaela shrugged, any bits of worry concealed. "I don't hear anything. You're probably just imagining things, or hearing an echo."

"Maybe," Sam hesitantly agreed. Mikaela kept walking, Annabelle happy to follow, so he stuffed the funny sensation down and traipsed after them.

The three of them kept walking, passing incorrect door after incorrect door. All the while, Sam's ears kept playing with him. Sometimes it was completely quiet other than Annabelle's occasional giggles and the sound of their own breathing and footfalls. Other times, Sam thought he could hear something rattling the walls. The floor and walls did not shake, however, so maybe he really was imagining it?

No, there it was again!

"Mikaela, there's definitely something. Stop moving and listen!"

Mikaela obliged, stopping where she stood. Annie made to speak, but the older girl simply raised a finger to her mouth to politely request silence. They stood there, straining their ears. For a long moment it seemed like the noise had stopped – _way to look crazy, there, Sam_ – and then the softest, reverberating series of taps could be heard. Mikaela looked up, brows furrowing in concentration.

"See?" Sam defended. He so was _not_ suffering space dementia.

Although she nodded at first, Mikaela resorted to shaking her head. "I'd bet it was just a fan or hydraulic thing or something. We're in an alien building. It's probably nothing."

Annabelle was definitely unconcerned, because she started pulling Mikaela forward to continue on with their expedition. Sam followed after them, still unconvinced.

The further they went the more persistent the noise was. Sam had definitely slowed in his pace while he tried to figure the intrusion out. It was a sort of clanging that was incredibly faint, but definitely there. Perhaps it was a generator of some sort? It _was_ fairly rhythmic, occasionally getting quieter like some heating appliances acted. Yeah – a generator wouldn't be out of place in a fully mechanical structure; Mikaela was on to something.

… He would have felt more certain if he knew Yellow was there to have his back. Speaking of which, where were the friendly mechs? It suddenly struck Sam that they might very well have been hopelessly lost by now.

"You know, I don't think the outside does this place justice on just how big it is," muttered Sam.

Mikaela took the time to whistle her appreciation. "Yeah, it sure is something. I mean, most of these rooms probably have crazy things in them. Do you have any idea how much technology has to be crawling all over this place, and the engineering involved? NASA's dream come true."

"It's like coloring books!" Annabelle added to the conversation. When her elders didn't seem to understand, she let go of Mikaela's hand and began making excited squiggles in the air. "You know, all the wiggly lines! All messy."

It still took several silent – and frustrating – moments before Mikaela's face lit up. "Oh, you mean like a maze?"

"Yeah! A maze," Annie energetically agreed. She wasn't entirely certain that was the right word, but it sounded right, and Mikaela seemed like a smart lady to her. She and Mikaela started making faces at each other, following Sam around a corner without looking.

Sam was intent on them. It was so refreshing seeing a bubbly kid, which had been lacking even back on Earth. Not to mention seeing Mikaela have so much fun. He didn't notice that the funny noises had stopped suddenly and completely. Smiling, he slowly pulled his attention away to focus on where they were going again. "Not arguing th–_who the?_"

A jolt raced through Sam. His whole body gave a shake and he instinctively reached out for Mikaela. She rapidly snapped to attention at the sudden movements and swallowed a surprised shriek. She, too, reached out for Sam; they managed to catch each other's arms. Their momentarily incoherent fright made them pull each other to the ground in an attempt to jump backwards, although Annie was short enough not to be pulled down by their tripping over one another.

Not fifteen feet away was the hugest mech Sam and Mikaela had ever laid eyes on. How they had managed to miss the massively sturdy legs, the various shades of silver, blue, _and_ red, or the sheer volume of him until they were practically on top of the mech was anybody's guess.

Annabelle didn't know what to make of the teens' reactions, especially after all the talk about how she was safe here. She hadn't seen the mech before, but he was sharing the same building as Black, so he couldn't be bad, right?

Mikaela just stared, Sam openly gaped. The stranger was taller even than Black, and suddenly, the hallways didn't seem so big. They looked up and up and up to find blue optics with steadily narrowing – focusing – lenses fixed on them. The mech, for all his imposing stature, appeared perfectly content to simply regard them, since he made no move of any kind. In fact… it was quickly becoming disconcerting, having the huge stranger randomly inside the huge building, dwarfing the huge hallway, and making them feel even tinier under his watchful gaze, while standing completely still.

When he spoke a few words of the alien tongue, the sound was deep and more impressive than the rest of him, and Sam abruptly wanted nothing more than to get back to the safety of Yellow.

* * *

It had been much too long since Optimus Prime last beheld the Ark. Even now, standing before its impressive bulk and engineering, he felt guilty about neglecting it for so long. The vessel had proven invaluable over the vorns he'd spent with it. The only things, perhaps, that had proven more invaluable had been the Autobots themselves. They, too, had been relatively neglected in recent times.

Now was the chance to begin remedying that. Prime knew he did not have long left in Verita Pax, since the remaining cycles of his visit boasted an incredibly full schedule, but he had made sure to set aside just the tiniest bit of time to at least surprise Ratchet and Ironhide before returning to his duties.

Although it had been quite some time since he'd used his positional override, Optimus was pleased to find the Ark's programming unchanged. With only the slightest revelation of his unique signature coding the main door opened to grant him unquestioned access.

"_**Thank you, old friend,**_" he acknowledged the ship like a long-lost companion before stepping inside.

Ah, yes. The extensive internals of the Ark. Optimus could barely restrain dormant protocol built from millions of system repetitions: board the ship, route to either the control room or one of several other important first stops, send out communications detailing the next actions to be taken… It was like slipping back on a piece of missing armor that felt entirely natural the instant it was back in place.

He knew immediately that he'd be taking the long way to the rec room, which was where he was certain he'd find someone.

The Prime's walk was leisurely throughout the ship. He followed well-worn corridor after well-worn corridor, going well out of his way to reconnect with the ship before rerouting himself to his true destination. He spent a breem or so simply accounting for the abandoned personal quarters of many of the ex-Autobots, listing the names of the rooms' previous inhabitants as he did so.

Optimus was not certain when exactly he became aware that the ship was set in stage one lock down, only that one moment he knew that it was. A peculiar thing, albeit one that heralded no bad news in particular. He could have overridden that setting as well, but, since he was uncertain as to why it was in place to begin with, decided against it. If he did not discover the reason for the lockdown protocol on his own then he would simply ask Ironhide or Ratchet when he saw them. Perhaps it _was_ best he seek them out now.

With a renewed purpose, Prime began to take the straightest course to the rec room.

However, the Ark continued to be full of surprises. The ex-Autobot commander had not gotten far since his decision to redirect course before his audios detected a quiet yet out of place series of noises reverberating through the metallic walls of the ship. Optimus glanced about at his surroundings but did not stop moving. He remained largely unconcerned until the increasing frequency and volume of the unusual sounds made it obvious that he was approaching the source, or that the source was approaching him.

The closer the two became, the easier it was to focus on the sounds. Multiple different tones, including a whistling sound, with shifting volumes and patterns – and there definitely was some measure of pattern to them, although what it was precisely couldn't be discerned. Sometimes two different noises played at once, pointing to the possibility of multiple origins.

_What an odd thing_, Optimus puzzled. Interested yet still unworried, he stopped walking and focused his sensors on the strange noises. Determining that they were coming from an adjacent corridor and originating from near the floor was easy enough. Attempting to place their specific source was not. If a mech was the source then Optimus would be thoroughly astounded.

In mere astroseconds more the culprits rounded the corner and entered the hall with him.

Prime was overwhelmingly surprised to see three humans gracing the Ark's hallways, and even more surprised to see the two oldest stumble over their own feet and fall back on the floor when they caught sight of him. At least he now thought he understood the security setting – the humans would have had little access to anything harmful during a stage one lock down. "_**Well, hello there,**_" he greeted. In truth, Optimus had been close to very few humans without cages in the way. Something told him that these beings were sublimely frightened, intimidated at bare minimal, as they looked him over with organic eyes wider than he thought they should be. The Prime contained a click of disappointment. He did not enjoy frightening anything, and he certainly meant these innocents no harm.

"_**Now, who brought you onto this ship?**_" he asked the humans, calmly observing them with the slightest of smiles forming with his optics. As he did so, the sole male began covertly sliding backwards while reaching out towards the youngest female. It did not escape the Prime's notice. He gently sighed. "_**You have nothing to be running from, little one,**_" informed the large mech. The _real_ little one, however, was the youngling, who had a measure of alien cuteness about her with her diminutive size – such a small creature! Optimus wondered if perhaps the trio was not a family unit. Supposedly that was rare amongst captive humans, although it was not an impossibility. He kneeled down, which startled the humans further, but thankfully did not set them running off.

Respectfully, Optimus extended his left hand to the three of them. They gave it a decent berth, glancing between his face and the entire limb warily.

The ex-autobot commander held his hand tighter to the floor in an attempt to show he would not be moving it threateningly towards them. "_**Come now. It's safer with me than wandering the halls. Had we both turned a corner in opposite directions at the same time…**_" Prime couldn't vocalize the thought, and all that came out was a stressed sigh. "_**Suffice it to say that it would not have been pleasant for you, and my conscience would have plagued me forever.**_"

As if they had understood his words and considered them valid, the three humans moved cautiously from their stunned positions on the ground and onto his palm. Once they were steady Optimus stood up, making sure not to jostle his new, fragile cargo. He protectively tucked them in closer to his frame. "_**Much better.**_"

The red and blue mech then continued to maneuver through the halls in his state of nostalgia, pleasantness overriding the unpleasantness for now. Prime certainly did not miss the war; he missed the constant company of the mechs who had once served as his soldiers and closest friends.

Only, now he had to find out which of the Ark's current residents owned three humans and was letting them run about the corridors unattended. Even with a stage one lockdown, it seemed a somewhat reckless decision to him.

Optimus arrived at the rec room soon enough, drawn by both an old sense of purpose and by the sounds of a conversation being held between some very familiar voices.

"_**- remember that, but do you remember the time Jazz and Prowl got into that argument in Qaor over the existence of gremlins?**_" Ironhide was saying.

"_**I was right there with you, remember?**_" That was Wheeljack. "_**He kept citing completely ridiculous things and using backwards logic just to get Prowl fragged off.**_"

"_**Oh, I definitely recall. I had to help Prowl realign his processors after that. He practically short circuited!**_" Ratchet.

Prime entered the doorway and looked over his ex-comrades for a moment: Ironhide, Wheeljack, and Ratchet, just as he'd surmised, as well as Bumblebee. They were chuckling to themselves, and it brought a true smile to his face. Then, Bumblebee looked over, and the ex-scout lit up.

"_**Optimus!**_" he cried happily. The other three turned, and made similar calls. "_**What are you doing here? And with my humans!**_" the mech took notice of Signal and Complement, safe in his leader's hands.

"_**Ah, so these creatures belong to **_**you.**"

"_**The two adults do. The youngling is Ironhide's,**_" said the bright yellow mech sheepishly, but with a smile.

The Prime nodded gently, already getting a warm feeling in his systems from seeing the gathering of mechs again. "_**I wondered who introduced them to the ship when I ran across them on my way in.**_" Optimus turned a smile to the Earthlings in his hand. "_**Are they meant to be free in the hallways, or was that an oversight?**_"

Bumblebee shrugged, and Wheeljack answered for him, "_**We weren't expecting anyone, so we thought it would be safe enough to let them wander at will. It's great to see you, Prime. Bumblebee was just talking about your visit to the colony when he arrived,**_" the engineer said.

Optimus steadily lowered the humans back to the ground. They slid from his hand smoothly onto the floor. Once there, the adults coddled the youngling, choosing not to leave from the room.

"_**It's wonderful to see the four of you as well.**_"

"_**Grab a cube of energon, Optimus,**_" Ironhide suggested, tilting his head back invitingly. "_**We were just reminiscing.**_"

The mech chuckled. "_**So I presumed. You were discussing Jazz enjoying giving Prowl processor troubles, if my audios still serve me fairly. But first, I have a few questions regarding the humans,**_" he informed them, serious but not terribly so.

Bumblebee clicked questioningly, Ironhide sitting straighter.

"_**Where did you acquire them?**_"

An odd question, Bee thought. But he answered without much hesitation, "_**From Dropkick's store. Beachcomber suggested I get one… I wound up getting two.**_"

"_**And speaking of Prowl, that's where Softspark came from. He confiscated her from a mech who couldn't take care of her,**_" Ironhide answered after him.

Optimus looked the humans over. Now everyone was examining the creatures. They still had not moved, even with the combined scrutiny of five mechs. "_**Ironhide already answered part of my next inquiry. Bumblebee, do you know if yours were fairly treated at the store?**_"

"_**Well… they're both very sweet, and they weren't really stressed at the place, from what I could tell,**_" Bee recalled the entire purchase as everyone looked at him expectantly. "_**No, I don't think they were mistreated. I don't think they were treated amazingly, either, just not badly. I didn't see any signs of drugging or abuse in either of them, and neither did Beachcomber, if that's what you're asking.**_"

The red and blue mech exhaled a gust of air, content enough with that answer as he continued to watch the humans.

"_**Such curious little animals. I've heard some mechs suggest that humans might even be sentient,**_" Ratchet brought up suddenly, reclining more against the wall his stool was near.

Optimus hesitated in his studying of male and female. "_**I admit, I've often wondered that myself. However, no one seems willing to invest the time to conduct the exhaustive, conclusive studies, most of our xenozoologists are of the mind that they are merely another species that mimics some sentient tendencies, and the reports on their planet have yet to yield any evidence to suggest otherwise…**_" Optimus thoughtfully trailed off. Although he did not change volumes his voice grew exceedingly distant the longer he spoke.

Buzzing with interest, Wheeljack questioned, "_**What about someone like Perceptor? 'Ol Percy would love to conduct those studies, wouldn't he?**_"

When he began his answer, Prime was still watching the humans. "_**Perceptor would, I feel. However, he is being kept quite busy with experimental exploratory technologies. Even should he have the time to do so, I assure you he would receive highly insufficient funds from the Institution of Scientific Research, Engineering, and Development. Since I cannot demand they fund any specific project, determining the true extent of cognitive function continues to rest out of reach.**_" Then, Optimus raised his head in contemplation. "_**Perceptor does have six of his own. Maybe it is only a matter of time before they allocate funding into that division, or he makes a discovery even without proper funding.**_"

"_**And I thought that two were enough of a responsibility! Six? How can Perceptor possibly have **_**six?**" Bumblebee disbelievingly asked. "_**Some taller humans aren't that much shorter than he is!**_"

"_**Botanica claims an even more impressive collection,**_" Optimus carried on with a half-smile. "_**She barely says she 'owns' them, but her estate and gardens are reported to house a total of some fifteen of the creatures. Most suffered injuries during capture or transport to Cybertron that would have led to their being put down if she did not offer to take them home.**_"

On the last point, Prime was particularly disappointed with himself. He tried to push for regulation about euthanasia and its related practices several times. On each occasion the wealthiest businessmechs and an acid storm of resistance had met him. While he and his morals had remained undeterred, and he had his own slew of support, it was made quite clear that the pet industry would still carry out the terminations in some manner or another, probably using even more arcane methods. The only way he could ensure any sort of 'fairness' for the humans was to compromise.

Prime would argue until the universe imploded that the benefit could scarcely be significant, though he had to concede he'd rather the creatures be chemically, 'painlessly' euthanized than face whatever lengths a trapper might go to if the aforementioned was not legalized.

"_**I hate to damper this reunion, but I feel the need to point out – we have not done very well by them, Prime**_," said Ratchet at length. The medic contemplated his energon cube. Determining there was enough for a final intake, he finished off the fuel and placed the cube back down. "_**There are exceptions, of course, but overall I think things could have gone a lot better with their planet.**_"

The agreement was silent for the longest time. It was nearly a tangible feeling in the air, accentuated by a few glances shared between friends and half-nods. Optimus closed his optics and tried to calm some of his more emotional thoughts by focusing on the rhythm of his internal systems. Finally, he spoke.

"_**I'm acutely aware of that. I am afraid, my friends, that it is still too classified for disclosing details, but you can recharge assured. There are measures underway to ensure that the humans receive the justice any creature deserves. **_" Prime returned his attention to the three organic aliens. The male, his mate, the youth which could have easily been considered theirs… almost the perfect image of a helpless, innocent family unit, fortunate enough to find homes with attentive mechs and making the best of their change in residence. Their species deserved so much more from the Cybertronians. "_**I will make sure we do well by them.**_"

* * *

**A.N.**

Geico car insurance reference. Get it? It's funny, cause Bee's gonna turn into a car eventually! *pretends to find it hilarious* Genius..._ not._

Many of you were quite good at guessing Optimus would have an extended cameo, and a couple made unrelated (albeit accurate) comments about other 'things to come.'

If you hadn't guessed by the chapter title, clearly much of this was more setup and tidbits of foreshadowing. Here's another glimpse into the future: chapter 10 will be 'Life Changing' (and hopefully out within 1.5 weeks max). Feel free to speculate.

R.I.P. my own beloved pet, Sparkle. 5/22/1996-5/25/2010


	10. Life Changing

**Title: **Property Of

**Rating: **T _((mention of non-sexual nudity _and_ bad words in this chapter, folks))_

**Summary:** During Cybertronian 'peace,' ex-Cons hide the sentience of and sell humans as pets to secure Earth. Sam and Mikaela might just be the first to grasp the reality of the situation alongside their new owner.

**Chapter:** Life Changing

I love my reviewers. In response to a choice few: 1) No, **gammon-is-a-fish**, Ratchet and Ironhide don't just lurk about the Ark in retirement – that made me laugh. Ratchet still sees patients on a fairly regular basis, and – while not onscreen – occasionally travels elsewhere for brief periods. Ironhide would do the same for various forms of weapons maintenance, and is indeed involved in some of the defensive weaponry installations around the colony. But think about it – there's no war on, so people specialized in wounds and weapons wouldn't be nearly as active. Not necessarily 'retired', but definitely not as busy.

2) **abby** asked about the phrase 'xenozoologist' (specifically, 'xenobiologist'). I've never seen it before. It just made sense. Animal study is zoology, 'xeno' means foreign/alien, so the study of alien animals should be xenozoology. Anyways, xenozoologists are not 'more concerned' with any other species, it's just that they have other things to do, i.e. some are bought out by the pet trade, busy looking into the possibilities of organic fuels (fun fact – this fic will incorporate some RotF mythos later, which means the whole energon thing is still something of a problem, making Earth's occupation/resource utilization a complex issue even for ex-Autobots), etc.

3) **Sahrai **– funny you'd mention the bathing/hygiene issue, because that's brushed over in this chapter. Related, nods to **Lady Shadowfire** for inspiring some facial-hair related mentions.

The events here were originally scheduled to come out a bit earlier. That said, a fair bit of the material was written/based off things written long ago… So, believe me when I say this has always been a long time coming. _And_, the length started to get out of hand way too quickly for my tastes… I feel I compromised in some areas to keep it manageable. Oh – and find my typos, prty plz. K thx.

* * *

Prowl could not believe that it had taken over an orn to successfully capture a single, unaided, unremarkable rogue human from Domicile Complex C. While not a small building, Complex C was not incredibly large, and so the creature's ability to elude him for that length of time was mutedly astonishing; perhaps even more astonishing given his discovery that the human was completely antisocial, unfriendly, and uncalculating. How a creature so obviously mentally unstable could retain its freedom despite the pursuit of several mechs – because Prowl was sure he hadn't been the only one, although he had, quite possibly, been the only one not desiring to terminate the alien once it was caught – was beyond the tactician.

As was statistically inevitable, his methods of approach had eventually won out. The human's unceasingly continuous need for food had been its undoing. Now, Prowl was returning home with one extra passenger: a wild-eyed human – male – shrunken inside singed fabrics, cranial hair completely disorganized, chemical odor not pleasant to the olfactory sensors, looking like it wanted to disintegrate into a corner of the small box he was being carried in.

Life had clearly not been kind to the Earthling.

Quite frankly, the ex-Autobot Second in Command and head strategist was at a loss for how to proceed now. The glaringly wild behavior the human was exhibiting did not suggest he would be able to be placed in another home. Prowl knew perfectly well the human had belonged to someone beforehand, even though no resident had claimed prior ownership and whatever means of identification the creature had possessed (if any) had been removed. No one would want to take in a human so predisposed to disliking mechs except, perhaps, a scientific crew who would not treat the organic properly as it was.

Which led to the second option: euthanasia or another means of disposal. Prowl was nearing his own building of residence, and glanced down at the cowering and angry being. No. That option did not seem appropriate in the least, and not even for an emotional reason. Prowl was certain many an emotional mech would avoid putting a human down due to empathy, and had he been prone to excessive fits of emotion, Prowl was sure he would, too. _Logically_ it made no sense. The creature had not chosen to be removed from his planet, had not chosen to be disowned – and mistreated, clearly – by his owner. It had not chosen to fend for itself on an alien world, and had not known its actions would be viewed so poorly by the colonial society. Why should the human suffer the ultimate price as a consequence of others' actions?

Deeply instilled Autobot morals and attitudes also would not allow for pushing the wayward human off to its death without proper investigation.

… This, again, forced the logic-oriented Prowl to arrive at something of a loss. He did not place any faith in the human finding a new owner. As with the human youngling he'd confiscated in his previous case, Prowl might have volunteered as an owner had he enough time to devote to an organic with such intricate needs, which an individual so traumatized as this would surely possess. But, he also did not find the other alternative sensible. Legally, there were no other options left to him. Personally assume ownership, attempt to place the human in a new home or research facility, or end its existence.

Not a single course of action appealed to Prowl.

What the strategist needed was time to develop another possibility. Should no answer present itself, he would need to consult his records, previous cases, perhaps several xenozoologists and maybe even procure a diagnosis for the human's behavior from Ratchet or another, and so on and so forth.

All of that would have to wait until he finished the filing to close this portion of the case.

And now, he was home.

Prowl remotely accessed his multiple encrypted locks, patiently identifying himself and eventually gaining access to his own living quarters. All lights flashed on upon his entrance, causing the captive human to inhale sharply and press himself further into his corner. From the look he was getting, Prowl would not have been surprised to learn the mad alien was considering him as both predator and prey.

The black and white mech set the carrying contraption down on a clear section of table. Prowl glanced about his orderly collection of file cabinets and shelves of datapads, wondering what precisely he could use as a more fit cage. He supposed an empty drawer would suffice, though he would find none in the main room or its adjacent office. In the supply room, however…

Prowl left the room and returned moments later with a spacious drawer that once housed extra energon cubes. He categorically cleared a larger space on the table in which to place the drawer. Unenthusiastically, he then turned his attention to the original cage.

The bipedal alien was still staring at him apprehensively. If Prowl were not a thoroughly controlled mech, he might have been unnerved by it.

The instant Prowl reached down into the small, open-topped carrier, the rogue human cringed. Had there been more room, it may even have attempted an attack. Due to the lack of space, however, it settled for writhing fiercely as Prowl attempted to hook his fingers around the frantic alien without injuring its organic frame.

"_**Mad as you may be,**_" said Prowl, looking over the struggling human, "_**I will not allow anyone to put you down unless absolutely necessary. It would be in your best interest, human, to calm down – and quickly.**_" Prowl deposited the small alien in the larger containment unit.

Upon its release the human seemed to melt into a corner, resuming its worried staring while apparently trying to disappear. Prowl simply observed the unsettling behavior in silence, trying to further his previous assessment of the Earthling. Male, definitely. Beyond that, other details were difficult to ascertain. The creature may have had brownish hair, or the hair may have been lighter – it could have been filth coloring the fibers. There was definitely enough wear to the rags to suggest grime was a possible culprit. The rags would need replacement, and concealed much of the organism's physical strength. Prowl estimated the human to be into its second decade, perhaps older, but was unsure. After a cleaning, it would be unsurprising if the abandoned animal looked up to a decade younger.

"_**I know you've had a less than satisfactory stay in that apartment complex, but unless you can prove to me that you're a personable human, I'm afraid your outlooks are bleak.**_" The mech blinked uninterestedly at the human, despite being entirely mentally engaged. "_**Your unkempt state does nothing for you. When I finish your paperwork, you will definitely be receiving a washing – I don't care how greatly you protest.**_"

After only another second or two of staring at the frenetic little flesh-creature, Prowl left for the other building once again. There he would be able to meet with those who had enlisted his aid, and on his return trip he'd have the freedom of purchasing new fabrics and some basic nourishment for the badly used organic.

No one would dare consider Prowl an illogical Cybertronian. Yet, the ex-Autobot found his processors illogically fearing for the safety of the human during the closing of this latest assignment, the final signing of paperwork, the purchasing of the necessary accommodations for the organic, and the rest of the trek home. The odds of the human escaping were miniscule, and there was nothing at his disposal to harm himself with, which was even then assuming the organism could bypass the universal imperative that living things did not inflict purposeful harm upon themselves.

The first thing Prowl did after his re-arrival was set the several food containers, watering system, and new coverings to the side of his main desk so that he might add them one at a time.

The desk made him recall his desire to clean the Earthling. Prowl saw no reason to delay that activity further, especially since he had ample time to complete it at present. Staving off the check-up for a moment longer, the strategist went to the domicile's utilities room and filled the spare sink therein with warm water.

_Now_ he could check on the human.

The human was no better or worse for ware. His form was still pressed into the corner where Prowl had seen him last, forcing the mech to wonder whether the human had moved at all during his absence.

At his approach, the organic raised its fretful eyes. A twinge of empathy struck the ex-Autobot, but he knew better than to deny necessities. Prowl was already prepared for the most negative reactions when he went to pick the creature up.

The human did not disappoint.

With a bark and a flailing, the Earthling made very clear his intentions never to be held again. The thing even injured himself attempting self-defense, and while Prowl gave him a moment to recover, it simply increased the mech's determination to restrain the human as quickly as possible.

The rest of the bathing experience went much the same way.

Prowl knew that many humans could perform semi-aquatically, but the frenzy of his current subject after being introduced to the sink of water made constant assistance a necessity. Not once did the struggles cease, although exhaustion caused momentary lapses.

Suffice to say that both mech and human were glad when the ordeal was over, the latter of which bundled himself tightly in a rag that Prowl decided would stay in the cage as well. The human did not react to Prowl's placement of the food and water into his temporary home, so tangled up in his rag and woes.

Prowl was not willing to plague the Earthling longer than need be. For the rest of the cycle he completed the peripheral paperwork about related complaints and files.

Only three times did he check on his visitor. Once, he was not spotted at all. The other two stirred the same nervous reactions that convinced Prowl his time was best spent elsewhere.

The tactician was several breems into reviewing a rough draft summary of the rogue human's case when his processors practically demanded he open a communiqué he had received not four cycles ago.

From Ironhide, the message detailed how greatly improved the human youngling he'd confiscated – Softspark, she was called – now was. Her fits had ceased, her comfort around mechs incredibly high, and her willingness to appease both the weapons specialist and the medic something no one could have predicted.

All of these shifts in behavior were due, irrefutably, to the reassurances of contact with more of her species. Such drastic changes followed exposure to Bumblebee's two pets.

Prowl's processor turned, all focus draining from the tri-screen of his desk's computer.

Humans would not be the first species that had herd mentalities to a degree that permitted living – however comparatively miserable – by themselves. Many creatures the galaxy over could adapt to much harsher things than being separated from others of their kind despite being social species. This human, simultaneously, would not be the first unable to adapt, driven into terror in the wake of combined isolation and neglect.

It may not come with guaranteed results, but it was worth the effort to try.

Glancing once at the drawer-turned-cage, Prowl activated his communications systems (repaired shortly following Ratchet's lecture during their last meeting).

/ _**Bumblebee, this is Prowl speaking. **_/

/ _**Prowl?**_ / was the fast response, laced with disbelief. / _**What's going on? **_/

The ex-Second in Command afforded no preamble. / _**I have a request to make of you…**_ /

* * *

Bee couldn't concentrate on editing datapads knowing Prowl would arrive soon. He wondered just how bad the mech's seized human could be. The tactician had actually expressed considerable worry at different points of their conversation. Well, considerable given his emotional predispositions. Bumblebee's old comrade had first asked if he would be willing to expose his pets to a visibly frantic human, and then if he might be willing to watch the human for at least a cycle until a more suitable, hopefully permanent address was found. Prowl, apparently, had already possessed him a cycle and a half.

Bumblebee had agreed in spite of his doubts. Signal and Complement had managed to help one human. However, she had been a small female youngling. The one Prowl spoke of was a full-grown male. The dynamics were completely different.

Three evenly timed knocks sounded on the main door. The ex-scout jumped out of his thoughts and rose immediately. No more time to worry about it. He crossed to the door quickly and opened it in as timely a manner.

The sight that met him was awfully conflicting, and Bee needed to quickly check his optics.

Prowl was standing outside the doorway expectedly. He held himself in the same way he always did: tall, official, demanding respect and oozing authority. In his right hand was held a clearly unhappy human that made all of Prowl's efforts crumble. This human had yellow-brown hair atop his head and also a scruff of it framing his face, unlike anything Bee had seen on either of his pets. The cranial hair was also longer than Signal's, though shorter than Complement's, and it was flying about as its owner shook and grunted in his attempts to free himself. One organic hand was trying to clutch, even tear at, Prowl's firmly closed fingers, the other pushing against them to pry himself out. Bee could not tell if the human had even noticed there was another mech present.

"_**Thank you for allowing me over,**_" Prowl said with a slight dip of his head. Bumblebee was still staring at the human. "_**As you've doubtlessly noticed, he acts exceptionally wild,**_" said Prowl as he looked over the scared organic. He glanced at Bumblebee. "_**I believe he was likely drugged into domestication, and was purposefully left out by his owner. The chemicals probably wore off, so he started running around as if he had just been removed from his planet.**_"

Bumblebee hesitated in going to try and get a better look at the wary human. For the first time, he could actually imagine one of the creatures in its feral state on Earth. "_**You thought it would be a good idea to show him to Signal and Complement… why again? To see if their presence couldn't reassure him, right?**_" Already the yellow mech felt failure was imminent.

"_**Exactly,**_" Prowl conceded. "_**Seeing his own kind might do him good. I'm told it worked excellently as a strategy with the youngling I previously acquired.**_"

"_**I guess… He better not injure one of mine**__,_" he warned. Bumblebee did delight over the creatures, but he wouldn't hesitate to defend Signal and Complement – neither of whom had ever done anything wrong that he could name.

Prowl tipped his head a second time, shifting his grasp on the human.

With the passing of one more anxious second, Bee let his ex-superior into the apartment. They both walked in, instantly scanning for either or both of the scout's biotic roommates.

In the moments following their entrance, Signal stepped from around the corner of the corridor that led to Bee's quarters. Prowl turned to watch the already domesticated human who had come to investigate.

The alien in his grasp stilled entirely when it caught sight of Signal; Signal froze the moment he caught sight of the other male. Both made awkward sounds, brief and unusual.

The mechs exchanged apprehensive expressions.

Bumblebee waited a moment before indicating that Prowl could place the strange human on the ground.

The tactician crouched and slowly let the once-frantic human slide from his hands to stand on his own two feet. A split second of silent, motionless anticipation elapsed, clashing just as much with the newcomer's previous behavior as the behavior had clashed with Prowl.

Then the strange male made a strange noise, and launched himself at Signal. Bumblebee and Prowl both moved to intervene, fearing that the two were about to end up in a brawl – one in which a calm, domestic human like Signal would surely be at a huge disadvantage.

They wound up stopping mid-leap and mid-lean.

When the two human males connected, not a single sound or act of pain or aggression ensued. Instead, they wrapped their arms tightly about one another for a stretch of time before letting go. And, while remaining close, they began to chatter excessively and in vocal tones and inflections that Bumblebee didn't recall ever hearing from either Signal or Complement. Speaking of which…

Complement now moved from around the corner. As with Signal, the pair froze, then Complement approached. The strange male moved away from Signal and did another sprint toward the female – a surge of fright rose in Bumblebee, who wondered if Complement's gender might make the new human react differently – but they, too, engaged in the same act.

All three humans started making funny motions and sounds and very occasionally touching one another, yet none of it seemed aggressive, frightful, or defensive in the least. The wild human of before appeared to have vanished into thin air.

Prowl glanced at Bumblebee. That was much more drastic and quicker a change than he had dared think possible.

* * *

There was some type of commotion going on in the main room. Sam was roused from a cat nap by a conversation between two mechs. The teen rubbed his eyes and sat up, trying and failing to identify the guest. And, the more Sam concentrated, the more he thought he heard a weak struggle.

"That's impossible, Yellow's still here," he grumbled to himself. When Yellow was home there could be no struggling. A glance at his side confirmed that Mikaela was only just beginning to rouse from her nap. She yawned and murmured something that might have been 'what's happening?'

"Someone's here. I'm going to go see what's happening," he told her, standing and stretching.

Mikaela yawned again and stretched in place. "I'll come in a second," she promised, taking her time sitting up.

Sam nodded, still half in a daze, and meandered out of Yellow's room. He was certain Yellow was there, so Sam was not hesitant in his approach this time. Sam quickly spotted another foreign mech, this one a mix of black and contrasting white, who had a struggling something – a struggling _someone_ – in his grasp.

Now who would want to try fighting against mechs, these mechs in particular? A man, that was who. A man looking mightily crazy, what with the grunts of effort, beginnings of a beard and the poofy…?

The train that was Sam's mind derailed right then and there. He felt his muscles tense up, like they were all inhaling. He had just gotten up, his senses were still fuzzy, surely, because the struggling form stopped its motions and stared right back, dumbstruck and amazed by Sam's presence, just as much as Sam was by his.

The facial hair was something new, but Sam knew the shape of the face; he'd seen a mess of hair like that before; he could sense hidden shreds of familiarity in the now-calm but previously-frantic expression.

"… _Miles?_" Sam barely dared to breathe out.

"Sam?" the stone-still figure practically squeaked, also uncertain whether or not he should believe his eyes.

The black and white mech crouched down and released his cargo onto the floor. It was a miracle that the human was able to stand in his state of shock.

Sam could not believe what he was seeing. There, in the room without any warning, was definitely Miles. It was Miles's hair, the same shade of irises, the same height… And yet there was something incredibly off about him. His body was too tense, more stressed than Sam had ever seen his best friend. He looked skinnier. His eyes… There was something in them that Sam could sense was different, even from where he was. Plus, the way Miles had been struggling had been so hurtful to watch. Miles had never gotten that angry about anything.

It wasn't real. It couldn't be real. _I'm dreaming; I never woke up from that nap_, Sam thought. Of course there was no way this could actually be happening.

_It didn't feel real when he was taken, either_, a taunting voice pestered.

They were silent for what seemed forever. Then,

"_SAM!_" Miles literally screamed, his whole face relaxing at once. It was the craziest Sam had ever heard him. It took Sam several seconds to conclusively determine that this wasn't a figment of his imagination, and that Miles really was sprinting to him. He belatedly ran forward to meet him, covering only a fraction of the distance Miles did before the blonde connected with him.

For the longest time Sam was only aware of Miles hugging him and him hugging Miles. He tightened his hands in the fabric on his best friend's back, not willing to let him go yet. Miles didn't seem ready, either. The eccentric teen had one hand fisted in Sam's shirt, the other splayed palm open, pulling Sam into him with a desperation and relief Sam could scarcely begin to place.

At some point they separated, and Sam swore Miles was about to break down.

"Oh God, Sam, I didn't think I was ever gonna see you _again_!" Miles breathed, reaching out again and grasping Sam's shoulders. He looked ready to cry.

"Me neither, man, me neither. Just… holy _shit_, Miles, what… what the _hell_? What happened to you? How'd you get here?" stuttered Sam, not knowing where to begin.

"Sam, you…" Miles shook his head frantically, laughing away the intense emotions, "… you have no idea."

"Hey," a new, slightly drowsy voice interjected, "Sam, what's all the…?"

"_Mikaela!_" came Miles's cry. When the girl had stepped around the corner and caught sight of him standing there, like an unprecedented ghost, she'd frozen with a hand in her hair and the other limp at her side. Miles at first was shocked into stillness again. His enthusiastic cry, however, broke the spell and set him running for Mikaela. She did an awkward jig when she – just like Sam – realized she wasn't imagining things. They hugged, too, all relieved squeezes and sentences cut short from disbelief.

Sam was with them to complete their trio for the first time in too long. Together, they created a frantic collection of nerves, each performing ducks and weaves and embraces. Together, all that could be heard was something like, "Miles – Sam – how did you – when – where did – Oh my God – Micky – holy shit – can't _believe_ this!"

"You guys," Miles finally worked out comprehensibly. "You really did manage to stick together." His voice was seeping with his astonishment, and other not-so-obvious things.

"Oh, man, Miles… Yeah. Yeah, we did. We were lucky." Sam didn't know if he should grin and try and lighten the mood, or apologize for having been granted a type of solace his best friend had never gotten.

Miles was about to answer when he went stiff again, this time not from happiness. Twice his neck moved a fraction, almost beginning to rotate but never doing so. His shoulders rose – perhaps unconsciously – in a subtle but defensive gesture.

"Why are you just chilling out in the open? There's a million mechs here!" Miles whispered breathily. He saved himself the fright of looking around to acknowledge the two (which was just as bad as a million) mechs that, until then, he had forgotten were there.

Completely uncertain now, Sam gave Mikaela a rapid glance. From her stance it was clear she didn't understand the sudden worry.

"Naw, Miles, it's – it's okay. These guys are cool. Well, I know Yellow's cool, so I assume the other one is by association…" Sam began to trail off. He reigned it back in as he scanned his friend who, no doubt about it, had to have experienced something life-changing since they parted. Even if the newly acquired anxiety wasn't enough of a giveaway, now that Sam was really studying his friend, he could tell it from his face. "They're not going to hurt anyone, promise," he consoled, instantly knowing that that was his best friend's fear. "They… they…? Dude, I think they think you're going to give me rabies or rip my arm off."

Miles blinked in confusion at the random jump in tone. Both Sam and Mikaela nodded at something behind him. When Miles turned to investigate, he found that he was being carefully, somewhat anxiously watched by both aliens. The yellow robot was leaning forward, looking ready to separate them. Even the black and white one that had captured him had a hand stayed outwards.

The blonde glanced back at his best friend with renewed nervousness, then to Mikaela. He inched closer, ducking down more without thinking. "Protective much? I didn't know that any of these guys cared about _any_ human."

"Yeah, we… we have it pretty good," agreed Mikaela. "Yellow is really nice." She hesitated. "Miles, how did you get here?"

"And why were you freaking out earlier?" added Sam. He stole a glance at the mechs again – the longer Miles didn't do anything, the more visibly relaxed they became.

Miles looked sharply at the two humans present. Something vital changed in that moment, and a buried ire sparked behind his eyes that practically transformed his whole face. "That bitch of an owner of mine! He shouldn't be allowed to be responsible for _anything's_ life. He didn't feed me right, was always keeping me locked up and forgetting to give me what I needed, and he definitely didn't handle gently, either. One day he just up and threw me out – threw me _out_, Sam. I had no idea what was going on! How could I know what was going on?" His volume increased as he grew more impassioned. Miles began to gesticulate; Sam and Mikaela thought that Yellow was about to pull them away to safety at the sweeping motions, but when they remained unassaulted, the mech let some tension ebb.

"So I'm locked out of his apartment thing, right? And I mean _locked out_ – kicked out, like trash. So I wind up having to run from all these giant robots who'd rather kill me than put up with me; don't think too much about it, but recall that humans don't exactly try and make life easy for mice in their houses by waving good morning to them and leaving port-a-potties lying around.

"And then there was the task of trying to find food, which is _unbelievably_ hard to do on a planet inhabited by metal aliens that don't eat – freakin'! – anything," Miles stammered for a moment, trying to find the right words in his speedy recitation. The volume of his speech wasn't the only thing rising. His pace was becoming more and more rapid with every breath.

"After a while," he admitted angrily, "some started actively hunting me down. Now, I was pretty much starving and dehydrated by lack of resources by the sixth or seventh day."

The trio paused at the number-drop. Maybe a couple days Sam and Mikaela could picture, but a week?

"Then they started trying bait – like a freaking dog catcher! Oh, I completely outsmarted them for about another week and a half, but the food and water I got out of it were still pretty damn insufficient. And _that's_," said Miles dramatically, more than just a hint of ire in his voice as he looked over at the black and white mech, "when _he_ showed up.

"God, I musta been a sight… I should've known better when there was just this set up of food and water and no visible trigger, but I was starving and dehydrated. I took the bait.

"The moment I passed what must've been sensors, these laser-looking bars erupted all over. Reasonably, I freaked right the hell out. Then, within a few minutes, this guy waltzes up.

"I'm still freaking out, mind you, and he comes at me! I start fighting the crap out of him and trying to dodge his hand and stuff, but he doesn't give up. I actually tried biting him for all of about one second. Eventually he got me squeezed tight in a hand and then I found myself in a cage at wherever it was this mech lived. It was pretty lock and key for about a day or whatever, and then this morning he snatched me up and brought me here," finished Miles. He breathed heavily, as though he'd run a race. Almost as quickly as it appeared, though, the anger vanished, replaced by another urgency. "God, I'm_ still_ starving! You guys wouldn't happen to have any…?"

Without warning the unknown black and white mech grabbed Miles mid-sentence and pulled him up. Not even the resident humans who were facing the mechs had noticed him stepping forward, so enthralled in Miles's summary of his recent treatment. Miles gave a start at the sudden action, automatically struggling in his captor's grip. Mikaela and Sam were also claimed. The two watched Miles sadly, their calmness completely contrasting to his fear and dislike of being handled by whoever this was.

All five migrated to Yellow's room. Sam and Mikaela watched as Miles and his captor approached their food and water supply. Black-and-White set the apprehensive Miles on the ground directly before the store of nutritional goods.

For whatever reason – confusion or suspicion – the boy didn't take anything from the box and instead studied the nearest mech. Black-and-White whistled low, then reached over Miles (the boy cringed) to grab a box of foodstuffs and present it to him directly.

"What do you want?" they heard Miles practically beg.

Sam recognized the signs that his best bud wanted to be anywhere else except out in the open with the black and white mech looming over him. That emotion, at least, was represented the same way. Sam had seen it hundreds of times before tests, presentations, or entering the lunch line on mystery meat days.

"Miles," Sam called in a quiet voice, barely avoiding making his friend jump. He started to walk forward, Mikaela joining after a second. "He's just trying…?"

Black-and-White dropped his free hand between them and Miles, halting their approach. The couple raised their eyes to alien optics, confused and miffed at being interrupted, even more so once Miles took an apprehensive step backwards at the motion.

The strange mech directed a few seconds of speech at Sam and Mikaela.

"Whatever," breathed Sam in a mumble.

"He's just trying to give you food," Mikaela advised. Though she knew she was trying to get Miles to see the mech wasn't a threat, she reflexively lowered her voice to prevent evoking even more of a negative response…since he already seemed displeased with their attempts to approach their friend. She found that action curious, until it struck her that maybe Black-and-White thought they wanted the food for themselves or they were getting territorial, in which case he might be trying to buy Miles more time to himself without interruption.

Something about that made her want to laugh.

Miles glanced sidelong at the offered container of food packets. "…Why?" he asked. He was almost too quiet to hear.

"Because you need it. Miles, please, these guys aren't bad, we promise," Sam made his heartfelt guarantee.

Words alone could not describe the conflict Miles went through then. It washed over him in rapid waves, the whole process taking only a few seconds. Inside, things were tearing: every mech he had met had been absolutely _shitty_ to him, but Sam was his best friend and would never lie, and neither would Mikaela, even though this mech had been the one to finally catch him... and he should never trust a mech (ever!), but he remembered not that long ago – or maybe it had been long ago – not caring about much at all and having a good time with life… but now…

Miles blinked at Sam. Inhaling deeply, determination creating tiny creases on his face, Miles reached out and took two of the food bags. So focused was he that even when Black-and-White spoke to him after he barely twitched an extra muscle.

"Sam, can we… move?" asked Miles at length. "And can you guys, like… distract me? Talk about, I don't know, sitcoms or something?" His voice was strained with the effort to trust his best friend and try and exist for once without thinking about the threat of the mechanical aliens.

"Sure thing," Sam readily conceded. He began walking to the berth. Black-and-White did not try and stop Miles from following. "We thought about you a lot. Directly, and through pizza," he tried to joke.

Incredibly confused, Miles didn't respond for a few, very long seconds. A part of Sam regretted the comment. Of course Miles would have forgotten that lighthearted section of their parting words. Sam looked worriedly to his girlfriend for reassurance, but then Miles nodded. "Oh yeah. The pizza… I thought of you, too," he reciprocated.

A silent sigh of relief left Sam and Mikaela.

"Have you ever, uh, seen any of the outside? Sam and I did," Mikaela moved on. "We can't see it from in Yellow's house, but he's taken us places before. We can't seem to pin down what exactly the building preferences here are."

That got an eyebrow raise out of Miles, who sat down right at the junction between berth and wall. Though the resident humans thought the blonde would crawl underneath, Miles was content to sit in the open so long as both his friends were there and he didn't let his peripheral catch the mechs. The tension was still obvious in his stiff posture despite the attempts to appease Sam and Mikaela's encouragement.

"No, but if the building I've been running around in is any indicator, their style can't be _that_ interesting. Pretty barren, if you ask me."

"Inside, maybe," Mikaela agreed, and Sam nodded, "but the outsides are scattered. It's just…"

"Alien?" supplied Miles, resting his forearms on his bent knees. He pulled the food pack open and grabbed what any domesticated human had come to accept was the fruit/vegetable substitute. All were quiet while he munched in a contemplative way. Twice he looked over at his friends. The third time, he swallowed purposefully and sighed. "I know you have questions, guys. You should just ask them and get them out of the way, you know?"

Sam did not speak. He had a thousand questions for Miles, like anyone who's best friend had pretty much returned from the dead. Sam doubted most of them would be welcome if they were trying to make Miles think of something else.

"Well, I have a question," Mikaela prompted, leaning forward. "Despite your lovely, very strange beard – which Sam here is apparently not manly enough to be able to grow," she threw in as an aside, earning a defensive 'hey' and a pout from Sam, "you don't look half bad."

While Miles tried to digest that and find the yet-to-be-asked question in it, Sam sulked, "I always knew you liked him better than me."

With an eye roll the young woman went on, "What I'm asking is, if you've been through so much poor keeping, how is it you managed to stay so relatively clean?" Mikaela was feeling the twinges of appearance jealousy, what with her unbearable hair, unshaven legs and underarms, unattended face... the list went on. She and Sam had managed to use some emptied food packets to collect water from the dispenser to use on the absolute necessities, but anything akin to proper bathing still eluded them. "I mean, did you find a water supply or something to wash down in?"

Miles did an interesting thing as Mikaela expanded on her question. His eyes widened, he took in a tiny breath, glanced to the side, and his position sunk back toward the wall.

"… I didn't, no," he answered with great timidity. "B-'n-W did. Found water and soap, I mean. Got to have myself a nice little bath," he said, heavy on the sarcasm.

Mikaela must have missed it, her attention only zeroing in on the word 'bath.' "You got to bathe? I wish Yellow let us bathe."

Miles snorted then, shaking his head. "Oh no. I didn't 'get' to bathe. I had to. Trust me – not a fun experience."

…

_He'd been caught, he'd been caught, he'd been caught!_

_The phrase ran constantly through Miles's mind like an irritating song on a music player that couldn't be taken off repeat or, better yet, was skipping. He'd known he couldn't possibly run forever; energy intake and energy expenditure were so drastically different that it would have caught up with him eventually, but damn it all, Miles was sure going to give it his all!_

_Then the _smart_ mech came into the picture. Then he had to go and be stupid and fall for that obvious trap. Now where was he? Trapped in a box, awaiting certain punishment, maybe death. How badly was he in trouble? Those questions, too, kept running through his mind, occasionally breaking the 'caught' train of thought for a moment or two. It all had the same effect on his mental state._

_He had long sunken into a sitting form of the fetal position in his corner of the accursed box. "I'm in so much trouble, so much trouble… I'm so dead," he kept muttering. _

_Combined, the mantras made him lose track of time. It was anyone's guess how long it was before the opening of a door rattled Miles's troubled world. The teen looked up from between locks of his longish, uncared for hair, still muttering to himself. Although the muttering continued the mech's footsteps trailed elsewhere in the building._

_Maybe his luck would be good for once. Maybe the mech would forget he was here, or – minimally – ignore him for now._

_Luck continued to be against him._

_The black and white mech swept into sight overhead, partially blocking the ceiling lights and casting Miles into shadow. The teen raised his head for better, ever cautious scrutiny. _

_Then the hand descended. _

_Miles gave a highly disapproving cry that was both brief and settling at the higher end of his vocal range. He jumped up from his position, splaying one arm out against the inner box as though he was being held up at gun point, holding the other bent in front of his body, ready to strike. _

_Black-and-white did not respect the stance at all. At the last moment, Miles hit the approaching limb with excessive force. He hissed in pain and drew his hand back in, cradling it to his chest and turning hate-filled and distrustful eyes to the mech. After the strike the mech had pulled his hand back some, but he was already advancing again. In a last ditch effort, the blonde kicked at the fingers, only to find that the robot didn't care whatsoever and simply grabbed him anyway._

"_What the hell do you think you're doing? Dude, put me down!" Miles growled out, writhing in the thing's grip, upset that his still-throbbing hand was now pinned. "I sentence you and your entire species to eternal damnation in robot purgatory!" the boy continued._

_Little heed was given to his cries. Instead, Miles saw that they were approaching what was akin to a shallow sink of water, with shallow being a relative descriptor. Miles supposed it could have been six feet deep, which had to be nothing to the mech._

_The mech placed him next to the edge of the basin. Miles glanced around quickly and determined that this room was neither a kitchen nor a bedroom, nor any sort of robot bathroom – in short, he had no idea where the hell in the robot's house this was, or what the heck it was supposed to be._

_Miles noticed the mech coming at him again. His first instinct and reaction was to jump to the side. This mech was too quick for that. Yelping his protest, the teen found himself caught around the front and swept slowly but surely backwards until he tripped into the basin of water._

_With a flailing and a splash, Miles was submerged in the surprisingly, perfectly warm water. It was not hot and yet far from cold. Miles didn't dare open his eyes from fear of what might be in said water… if it even was water, he thought dreadfully. His feet touched the slick metal bottom, and he pushed up. Breaking the surface, his eyes popped open, he started flailing again, and he spat some of the weird-tasting, impure substance from his mouth._

"_Whoa!" Miles cried out when he became aware that the mech's hands were closing about him. He made to paddle out of the way and once again was too slow. Soft organic hands hit extra slippery metal under water, sliding over partially parted fingers every other moment until the mech got a decent hold on him._

_Still splashing and frantic, and feeling increasingly as if he were going to be drowned, Miles's eyes darted rapidly around. He saw one hand being removed and reaching for a container of God knew what. In another second, a bit of bluish-green liquid was added to the water._

_Then Miles really started to freak out._

_Large fingers were grasping his garment that called itself a shirt. Miles gasped out his surprise when it was lifted away from him. He grabbed at the fabric and tried to pull it back, but with a 'gentle' tug, the mech had it away from him. When he realized that the mech was about to do the same to his pants, Miles gave thrashing a new definition._

"_Rape! Giant robot _pervert_! GET OFF ME!" he shouted crazily. Wasn't being starved enough? What the hell was going on?_

_Yet, like the shirt and everything else, try as Miles might, he was unable to best the mech. In another moment he was freed of all clothes._

_The surrealism of skinny dipping in an alien sink or alien whatever-the-hell-this-was, a ways away from Earth, didn't escape Miles._

_The alien robot, clearly uncaring as to the human's nudity, started to swish the water with his spare hand until some bubbles began to form. Once the first few began to appear, the black and white mech started rubbing his fingertips gently at Miles's back. _

_The teen arched away as he came to the realization that he wasn't being intentionally violated. He was being given a bath._

_An alien robot was bathing him?_

_A cloth appeared literally out of thin air (the surprise of which made Miles flail all the more as he tried to escape the fingers fiddling with him). The mech took that and submerged it in the water, carefully entangling Miles in it, and then scrubbing him by rolling the pocketed human about in it._

_Miles gasped in a breath of air as he was pushed under the water to get his hair wet and soapy. He coughed after resurfacing, and angrily tried to bat away the fingers that moved to rub at his head._

_After more coughing and flailing and craziness – Miles couldn't recall everything happening, only the splashing of water, his limbs constantly striking metal, and a weird cloth wrapped around him as he was gently but thoroughly scrubbed down – the mech pulled him and the cloth out of the water. Miles spat out the excess that had gotten into his protesting mouth._

_Black-and-White took a couple steps to the side, and the teen watched as a faucet was turned on. Miles quickly shut his eyes as he was stuck out under the stream of water to be rinsed off. He growled under his breath while the mech shifted him all around and eventually removed the soaked rag to make sure he got all of the suds off. _

_Miles felt a new, dry cloth being wrapped around him. He opened his eyes and glanced around at the mech irately. Black-and-White was still immune to the glaring, and focused instead on drying Miles off. _

_Miles decided he was dry enough half a minute in and began to seriously struggle in the heap of material he was bundled in. With what sounded distinctly like a sigh, Black-and-White quit his fussing and pulled a clean set of store-issued clothes from out of nowhere. When he offered them to the teen – who was heatedly drying himself off and murmuring about the indignity of it all – Miles grabbed them roughly and huffily, instantly whipping them at the hand that continued to stray too near for Miles's liking._

_The mech chattered harshly then, and Miles froze. Oh crap. Had he just gone too far? Immediately Miles was looking for an out. Where could he hide? Where could he dive? No where but back into the water, and Miles did not want the rapist mech to start violating him again._

_The hand never came. Miles had no idea what to think. Was this… was this mind rape? It was torture. He knew he'd just pissed the mech off, and he was going to get punished for it sooner or later. Black-and-White should just get it over with! Miles hastily pulled on his pants – whipping his gaze up and down every other second, not letting himself lose track of the mech – to save himself that embarrassment._

_Then came the shirt. The teenager was even more wary in putting this on, because there was going to be a guaranteed moment where he would lose his vision. _

_Even during that prime opportunity to catch him by surprise, the mech did nothing to him. Instead, Black-and-White waited several seconds more before grabbing Miles a second time. Miles was so convinced punishment was forthcoming that he didn't notice the grip that carried him back to his cage was less tight than previous. _

…

"Bathing is not all it's cracked up to be," Miles said definitively.

Sam shifted, uncomfortable. "That sounds awkward, man. Although, I'd like to think I trust Yellow enough to not care that much, so long as I did get a good wash out of it. I don't envy you."

The blonde turned his head up and to the side. "You say 'trust.' I don't… don't get that. How can you trust any of them?" Miles stared at his friends like they were the crazy ones caught jumping and thrashing at the very notion of mechs. "After what they did to us?"

Neither Sam nor Mikaela could form any sort of answer at first.

"It's difficult to explain," was all Sam could come up with in a timely fashion.

Mikaela provided more, although at a measured pace. "We know you've had a horrible time, Miles, but – honestly – we can't say we have. Sure, a couple mechs here and there took us and used us and were prepared to leave us to die, but Yellow…" She paused. "He's a good mech, though I wouldn't have said it when he first got us. All of his friends have turned out to be. I'm not saying we get the red carpet or anything," she assured, catching an entirely doubtful stare on Miles. "We're treated more like a respected pet would be. They still fiddle with us on occasion, holding and coddling or reprimanding, but it's not excessive. It's actually kind of…"

"Enjoyable," Sam found the word that Mikaela couldn't.

More than a minute elapsed without reply. Miles was taking it in. Mikaela didn't know if she needed to add more, and after a few seconds, was afraid to. Sam observed the silence with deference.

"We must've had completely opposite experiences," Miles eventually broke the silence. He stared at his empty food bag with a half-frown. "We weren't crazily against the mechs when we first got here, but you didn't want to be taken any more than I did. Look at us now. I've learned to hate 'em in the same time it took you to fall in love with 'em."

"I think 'love' is a little strong," defended Sam in earnest. "Grateful, maybe. As happy as possible given the circumstances, yes. Love? Definitely not."

Miles laughed. The sound wasn't crazy or spiteful or malicious. Nonetheless, neither it wasn't from humor alone. "It's hard to picture that," he said, still not looking up from the bag. "It's hard to picture such drastically different attitudes. 'Course, the people at the shop were freakily keen on the idea of domestication. Not that I'm saying you turned into them," preempted the blonde with a shoulder roll in their direction. "It's just…" He raised his eyes. "The way I've had it…"

…

_Miles did not know how often the aliens thought humans needed to eat. Some people fed their dogs twice a day, some once, some chose variations. The first time he'd been placed in this silver cage there had been food available. Several bags that mirrored the ones The Caretaker and Mr. Seasick had delivered to them were tucked in a corner near some questionable looking sheets. Well, rags, not sheets; the rags may have been white once, but were now off-white or yellowish, with dark stains that may very well have been from oil (after all, they were robots). _

_What a fire hazard, he thought amusedly._

_There was water, too. The cage had a total area roughly the size of Miles's living room. However, it had the rags and a literal basin of water to take up a good fourth or third of the vicinity, making it seem cluttered and small. Other than that the space was barren._

_That was three days ago. The several bags – four to be precise – were gone now, two for each of the first days. Should Miles have known he wasn't going to get replacements the third day, he may have rationed them even more._

_His owner, Indy (named for his obvious indifference), had been neither good nor bad up until that point. The lack of attention might have been considered neglect, but Miles had been quite thankful for it, without more than a cursory glance or occasional cage-tapping passed his way. _

_The third day there was no food. Miles went hungry, and yet he was not overly so. He thought that maybe mechs believed humans needed only one packet of food a day, so the four packets should have lasted him four days. _

_A stray thought silently contradicted that The Caretaker had given them multiple meals daily._

_The fourth day, there was no food._

_At one point Miles's stomach got so voracious in its growls that the red gaze of his owner had grown angry and the teen had been snapped at. _

_Waking up hungry on the fifth day finally got Miles worried. His mind raced in loops. What if he didn't get any more food? And the water was starting to get low. What if the mech had forgotten, being a new pet owner and all? Shit! What could he eat? Miles had eyed the rags before shaking his head. 'Screw this; I'm no goat!'_

_Alas, after three days without a bite to eat, the sixth day brought another food packet. When Miles eagerly accepted the small, packaged morsels, he swore – in retrospect – that the mech gave a jarring laugh at his desperation. _

_It would be two days more until the next pack of food was given. By that time the water supply had depleted, and Miles went two days before it was refilled – and only halfway. _

_The rags themselves were not changed once during his entire stay with the mech._

…

_The whitish mech was not completely a loner. Five times during Miles's stay, strange mechs – all with fiercely red optics that made him, for some reason, want to hide under his blankets – visited the abode. On one of the occasions, Miles was fairly certain there was some sort of party or other important social gathering going on._

_Every single mech followed a similar pattern. Enter the room he was kept in, approach his cage, stare at him in some uncomfortable way, either poke at or jostle the cage to try and make him move, then say and/or snap something at him, and – for at least three mechs at the gathering, and each of the other times – open the cage and grab him out of it for show or examination._

_Every single mech was also not well-versed in the art of human handling. They would grab, closing their hard metallic fingers too tightly around him, more than once making Miles think he would pop. Arms might be pinched, skin bruised as he was passed too roughly, head going dizzy and innards doing queasy flips when the hands would shift back and forward, holding him at angles he didn't want to be held at (like this one ass who thought it would be interesting to find his reaction to being held upside down, and who was terribly interested to see Miles's face go red from the unhealthy blood flow). What little contents were in his stomach at any given time always wanted to be forced up at such treatment._

_Indy was the worst. Whenever he deemed Miles worthy enough of his attention, the mech would hold him so tightly that the blonde could scarcely breathe. Should he try and shift to something more comfortable, the grip would tighten and Indy would buzz sternly, suggesting he would not put up with any such 'struggling.' _

_Once, Miles – two and a half days without food, one and a half without water at the time – decided that if Indy was going to punish him for shifting his arm to a position where it wouldn't break, then he might as well go all out. Miles made head-banging metal- and rock-worshippers everywhere proud, writhing and wiggling and jutting his whole body back and forth._

_Indy did not approve in the least. Rather than try and punish him, however, the mech quickly returned him to his cage. _

_Every subsequent time he was picked up, Miles repeated his wild thrashing until he was released. _

_Before Miles knew it, it was commonplace. It was practically a conditioned response. Any other time someone even went to pick him up he started acting crazy, and he was either left alone or put back down shortly thereafter. Indy may have further developed his habit of shoving the cage, as if saying 'you crazy piece of filth,' but Miles guaranteed he was never held for more than a few minutes again._

…

_One day was different._

_Thankfully full, having received food that morning, Miles was trying to fall asleep to escape his bored and stressful misery when stomping feet entered the house. Sleep was now impossible. Miles was afraid to move his head to acknowledge Indy's return from some outing or other, not wanting to do anything that might unnecessarily draw the mech's volatile attention. If the obvious haste to his movements was anything to go by, he would definitely get bruises from their interaction if it came to that._

_Indy paced his house several times, settling at last on the main room where Miles was kept. Miles refused to open his eyes, instead squeezing them shut and pulling his limbs in; the mech was alternately hissing and yelling, and the human couldn't shake the vibe that the tones were directed at him. _

_Then the entire cage shook. The teen's eyes snapped open, his pulled-in hands shooting out to grab at the rags around him for support, which they didn't offer. Miles's heart gave a flutter when he found Indy's face very near the side of the cage, optics only intensely focused pinholes. The growling voice upped in ferocity, scraping in a way that made Miles wince and fling his hands to cover his ears. The mech growled more at that. _

_Indy stood and tore open the top of the cage without warning. Miles didn't have time to struggle before the hand closed around him, squeezing so hard that nearly all the air was forced from the human's lungs. Wheezing to try and find breath, Miles could not register that he was still being barked at, and being carried hastily to the front door._

'_What the hell did I do?' he thought frantically between gasps for oxygen, although there was little open space in his lungs for oxygen to reach._

_And then he was being thrown outside. Miles hacked loudly as the pressure vanished from his lungs. Indy had bent down and strewn him across the metallic-tiled floor – the teen's hands squeaked as they slid over the polished surface, fighting for purchase and failing. _

_Miles lay there, dazed and coughing and in pain, for several minutes. When at last he had his breath back, he turned his head to the side and discovered that the door was long shut. He was in a hallway now, long and spaced with large doors and strange structures lining either side that might have been shelves and cabinets or something else entirely._

"_Am… am I supposed to live out here by myself?" he whispered harshly. His own voice sounded weird from infrequent use, and stranger still due to the rare tone of speech he'd settled on (Miles, frankly, never hissed)._

_Yes._

_He was expected to stay alive by his own ingenuity. _

…

"… and don't start me on the ordeal about surviving on my own," he whispered, faint as he could be while still being heard.

Sam only stared, wide eyed, at the retelling. How his best friend managed to relate even that without breaking down – because Sam was sure there was so much more to it than that – was impressive enough. There were no words to say to that.

"Miles, we… we had no idea," Mikaela managed with some difficulty, finding her voice small and almost childish in light of Miles's, which had left no room for error, argument, or lightheartedness.

"I know you didn't, and I know that's not your fault," he answered. He gave a dry smile. "But you see why you suddenly saying there's a mech you can so-called 'trust' is so hard to believe?"

And yes – after a shared glance, Mikaela and Sam knew that they understood his stance now.

Still, they pitied him for it, and hoped that Yellow would help him see otherwise.

* * *

Prowl watched with intrigue as 'his' male continued to communicate with Signal and Complement even as he rested against the wall and contented himself with a steady food supply. "_**So would you be willing to care for and monitor him for a half dozen joors or so?**_" he asked. The human was infinitely calmer now that he had been introduced to others of his kind. "_**It looks very probable that his behavior was due to desperation and maltreatment. He seems to be perfectly capable of peaceful coexistence.**_"

"_**Poor thing,**_" agreed Bumblebee. "_**The whole experience must've been so scary for him… I wouldn't mind watching him for as long as it takes for you to find him a home. Signal and Complement seem to like him, and the other way around.**_"

Even as they spoke, Signal stole a piece of carbohydrate-filled food and threw it back at the newcomer. The newcomer caught it and promptly ate it. Signal and Complement both made funny sounds that made their bodies tremble slightly.

"_**If it turns out that he's normally as well-behaved as he now appears,**_" said Prowl at length, "_**I would be willing to take him.**_"

Bumblebee looked doubtfully at the ex-tactician. "_**You? With an organic pet?**_"

"_**Yes,**_" Prowl said calmly. "_**I'm capable of taking care of one. I wouldn't want him to end up with another traumatic experience due to neglect or incompetence, and I have considered taking a human in before. I needed one without many behavior complexities that demanded time I did not have, but if this calmer nature of his persists, I do not see the problem. That, and,**_" he said, a little out of character with a hint of conspiracy in his voice that got Bumblebee's full attention, "_**never tell the twins I said this, but I do occasionally miss not constantly looking out for and being responsible for someone.**_"

Bee chuckled. "_**Don't worry, Prowl; my vocals are muted. Does this potential pet have a name, then?**_"

The tactician contemplated the human. "_**I was thinking that Quirk would be an appropriate designation. It has an air of frivolity, the human himself was an irregularity in the building we found him in, and clearly he has personality quirks that we may never fully comprehend.**_" As 'his' human began throwing a brown food item into the air and slapping his hands together before catching it – repeating the action and adding more slaps as if racing against gravity – Prowl's faceplates betrayed a smile. "_**I think Quirk is a very appropriate name.**_"

* * *

**A.N.**

Been waitin' 7 chapters for this, right? Probably one of the only things more anticipated (I'd be willing to bet) is the revelation of human sentience. Sorry – that one isn't due to arrive just yet. There will be more Miles to come, don't worry.

Again, congrats to those who correctly identified earlier foreshadowing. And, regarding Miles/Prowl – while originality is always awesome, some story facets are too good to pass up, their interactions being one of those.

And thanks for all the reassurances about the loss of my dog. It might be a little odd since I don't know any of you outside the virtual world, but the comments did mean a lot to me.


	11. Where We All Stand

**Title: **Property Of

**Rating: **T

**Summary:** During Cybertronian 'peace,' ex-Cons hide the sentience of and sell humans as pets to secure Earth. Sam and Mikaela might just be the first to grasp the reality of the situation alongside their new owner.

**Chapter:** Where We All Stand

Holy crap. I had no idea how busy my summer would be! Between graduation, graduation parties, weddings, out-of-town relatives coming to stay/the planned events associated with that, college orientations, the college loan process, placement exams, getting a laptop and transferring all my files (I've used Word 2003 for years; now I have 2010, and it's a funny transition by itself), and dentist/optometrist/general doctor appointments every other day, I daresay I was less busy during my exam weeks. I am _**so**_ sorry for how long this has taken – I just had no clue how little time I would actually have to myself for _anything_, let alone fanfiction writing/proofreading. I had more people than usual send me reviews/PMs about updating quicker... can you ever forgive me?

In response to some more reviews - I hope to say this for the last time - Will Lennox _will_ be involved in the story later on. Fret not. He will show up, I promise you this.

Guess who gets a cameo? Don't know if I'll do anything more with it in the future, but…

So, this chappie is intended to reveal a thing or two out about where the different pieces to the puzzle all stand at the moment. I don't think it's very complex, but the concepts touched on are pretty important.

And PLEASE find my typos – a chunk of this was written/edited on my laptop, and I'm unused to the keyboard, so I fear I may have had more typos (aka more likely to miss some typos) than before.

* * *

Miles was much more relaxed in the absence of mechs. After Black-and-White and Yellow left, he was more open to conversation and had plenty of questions of his own. Sam walked his best friend through the generous life Miles had been missing out on, although he had to concede that they had suffered several moments of terror themselves. Namely, being petnapped and taken to a suspicious building and abandoned on the streets. At the conclusion of the story, Mikaela spelled out her forming theory regarding optics.

"This has to be more than just a coincidence," she insisted. "I haven't seen a mech yet that had blue optics that was mean to anyone – well, mean beyond the 'enslaving the human race' thing," she corrected herself quickly and weakly. "But the ones with red optics… Your owner had them, Miles, I remember." Miles barely managed not to scowl at the mention. "The mechs that took us had them, so did the shady characters they met with; so did the ones back on Earth for that matter," she recalled with a hushed voice.

"Is this, like, an eye color conspiracy?" ventured Miles, partially joking.

Mikaela shrugged while Sam simply contemplated. "I don't know. Maybe… I mean, they're robots, so maybe they actually have a literal 'moral code' somewhere in there. Maybe some codes are different than others, and it alters the color of their optics. I don't know," she repeated herself. "It's a long shot. But think about it – it can't be just a coincidence, can it? And… and I don't think I've seen the two really mingle before."

There was a pause as all three teens strained the minds and sifted through their memories.

"… You could be on to something," grumbled Miles. "Indy's pals were all reds."

"And Yellow's friends are all blues," Sam agreed.

There was a second pause during which the revelation sank in.

"That's crazy. Maybe not fool proof, but I like the idea of it," said Miles at last. "Being able to tell who I should and shouldn't run from at first glance… I definitely like the sound of that." A dreamy little smile crossed his face.

They spoke more. Mikaela explained how they'd met another person – a child – named Annabelle, who was being kept by more of Yellow's friends. Sam detailed all the various robots they'd come to know through Yellow: Purple and Green (the only Reds), Softie, Flashy, Black, The Doctor, and Huge. Miles repeated the last name with raised eyebrows, and Sam's reply had been, "He was incredibly huge, don't question it."

As it was, Miles had had no intention of 'questioning it.' The less he knew about 'incredibly huge' mechs, the happier he'd be.

Mikaela used that to segue into describing the conditions in which Annabelle lived, which involved the aforementioned Black, The Doctor, and an exceptionally spacious building. However, Miles's mind began to wander after the unabashed – though by now at least somewhat out-of-practice – mechanic said just how thrilled she was to see the little girl go from crying and traumatized to pleasantly normal in a very short time span.

Miles did not know whether Mikaela chose that story simply because she was looking for something to talk about, or whether she meant to try and inspire him by it. Either way, Miles did not take offense, and instead grew contemplative.

Was it possible for him to make the same transition?

No expert was needed to see that Sam and Mikaela felt comfortable around Yellow. Coexistence – regardless of how comparatively shitty the human existence was – was obtainable, that much was apparent. Given that only a few hours prior Miles would never have dared to believe even that, it might also be feasible that his views could change. He didn't think it would be easy, but it had to be possible. Despite his own trauma, and his own ingrained disposition, time would probably be able to heal him.

_Wait a second_. Miles frowned; neither of his friends noticed. What on Earth (or wherever) was his inner-self going on about? Putting his faith in _time?_

Screw that! He was a human, not some whimpering, abused dog – not that he had anything against dogs, and definitely not abused ones. Why, his own dearly departed mastiff, Mason, had actually been rescued from… _No_ – stay on track! He was human. If he wanted to get over something, he didn't need time's permission. No, it wouldn't be easy no matter what he did, but Miles made a silent vow that he was going to try his damndest to follow his friends' advice. If not for his own sanity, then for his physical well-being. The only thing Miles thought he feared more than mechs was the prospect of being abandoned again without a single shred of assured survival. Acting overly difficult for the aliens – and especially if his friends were right, and there was a fair percentage of them who were on his side – would be detrimental in preventing that from ever happening again.

He caught sight of a blurry yellow shape growing closer. A refocusing of his eyes back into the present confirmed that the owner of the house was appraising them from across the room. Miles fought against a full-body shudder, but lost soon enough.

Forcing himself to warm up to the aliens was a task easier said than done.

"He's back," Miles interrupted grimly with a nod to the doorway. His friends turned, fully unalarmed by the announcement.

Yellow was smiling at them with his eyes from just inside the door frame. He made no attempts to conceal that most of his focus was diverted to Miles, who he appeared to address when he next spoke. The attention caused the blonde to unintentionally shift his head to the side, although his eyes remained hard and unmoved by the display.

Equally, Yellow was unmoved by Miles's display. The mech approached them steadily and, the closer he got, held out one of his hands.

It wasn't until Yellow crouched down a few feet away that the collection of teens could see the three red almost-spheres that collected in one of the grooves between two metallic fingers.

Miles was left staring while everyone else – organic and robotic – waited to see his response.

"Are those _apples_?" he said at length, in a harsh whisper that sounded somewhat like a hiss. Yellow blinked his optics concernedly at the noise. Sadly, Miles was too preoccupied with the apples (and Sam and Mikaela too preoccupied with Miles) to notice it.

Mikaela gave a nod. "He gives us fresh, actual food sometimes," she confirmed. She leaned forward and took one apple for herself. Sam waited another couple seconds before doing the same.

All the while, Miles gauged Yellow's response to his friends' nonchalant interactions.

There was nothing. Exactly as Sam and Mikaela had said – there was no threatening move or frightening gesture, simply mutual complacency.

Miles, too, pushed himself forward and – although his instinct told him not to – watched the mech's face as he extended an arm first towards the mech's hand, then over the rim of his fingers, then down towards the one remaining fresh fruit…

He swore the yellow robot's optics shone with happiness, an alien version of a smile. He was so stunned by the behavior that he even endured a very brief brushing of his hair with no more retaliation than a ducking of his head. Yellow immediately gave him space after that, which also surprised him.

It was one thing to hear that mechs could be nonviolent with their human pets, and another thing entirely to witness it.

After Yellow left the room, Miles turned to Sam. "That was the weirdest thing that's ever happened to me."

Sam took a bite out of his apple and chewed while he considered. He swallowed. "You mean weirder than being abducted by aliens?" Another bite. "Or being on the wrong side of a pet market?" That second statement was muffled by bits of apple.

"…Since then," clarified Miles.

"You'll get used to it," Mikaela told him brightly.

That was only a partial truth. For the rest of the first cycle spent at Yellow's, Yellow did not return to his room. On the two occasions he was spotted walking past the door to the room at the end of the hall, he did not stop to check on them. Mikaela observed at length that Yellow was probably purposefully avoiding them so that Miles might get used to him on his own time.

"That's stupid, in a way," Sam said. "How can someone warm up to something that's not even there?"

Miles, at least, was grateful. Following hours of conversation, he was indescribably thankful to be able to crawl under the mech's sleeping berth, entangle himself in soft fabrics, and fall asleep. Sam and Mikaela did not join him immediately, and it was some time still before Yellow retired, which granted the blonde a nice chunk of peaceful, much-needed rest.

It was the first time in a long time that he'd been able to sleep more than thirty minutes solid. Many of his nerves returned when Yellow came to recharge. Knowing there was a mech directly above him, even with his friends now near his side, meant Miles could not sit soundly. He briefly fell asleep in periods no more than fifteen minutes long, then awoke, fidgeted uncomfortably, eyed the bottom of the berth on the unlikely chance that a mech might materialize through it, then repeated the process. As it so happened, he was awake when Yellow woke back up and left the room. Miles managed to fit in another hour of sleep after that.

When he woke for the last time, it was the result of a mixture of hunger and a need to use the bathroom. However, a glance to his side proved Miles to be the only one up yet. He looked between his friends and the necessities waiting beyond the shelter of the berth.

Miles tried several times to work up enough courage to venture out on his own – _who cared,_ he asked himself;_ Yellow let me eat yesterday, so why should today be any different?_ The logical part of his brain wanted that food so badly and knew he was being ridiculous, while the emotional part told him he just couldn't risk it.

Emotions won out on this occasion. After several failed attempts, Miles decided to endure his discomfort at least until either Sam or Mikaela was conscious.

There must have been some sort of god somewhere – albeit a fickle one, given Miles's history – because the teen had to wait only another twenty minutes before Sam began to stir.

"Hey, Sam. Sam," Miles whispered, trying to gain his best friend's groggy attention.

"Huh?" muttered Sam. Or, he tried to mutter a coherent 'huh.' What came out was an indiscernible sound.

"Don't fall back asleep for a minute, okay? I really need to use the bathroom."

Sam made another sound that Miles recognized as agreement.

Emboldened some, Miles began to venture out from under the berth. He disentangled himself from the blanket-cloth and crawled to the shadowy line where cover met open room. Miles eventually crossed to the vulnerable side of that line, forcing himself to stay calm. Though he was never entirely calm, Miles managed to get to the mock-toilet without freaking out and without the mech intrusion he was expecting. He used it with notable haste, but retained enough sense to even fake-wash his hands with the water container before sneaking up on the food box and claiming his breakfast before someone could take it from him. The last stage was the shaky, jumpy walk back to the berth. Common sense was again demanding he calm down, since Yellow had no reason to check on them, but emotion was convinced that he couldn't have been allowed to do all that without some sort of bad thing happening.

Common sense proved accurate in the end, as Yellow did not show up and Miles made it safely back to his spot.

Sam was still lying down but wide awake when he returned. There was a short silence before Miles popped open his baggie of food. Sam turned his head to the side to look Miles questioningly in the eye.

"Did you wait for me to get up to use the bathroom?" he asked.

"Yeah," agreed Miles. "But not for too long. It's fine, so you can forget about it."

Sam didn't look like he wanted to agree. Still, for Miles's sake, he dropped it. He excused himself for a moment and went to do exactly what Miles had. Unbeknownst to him, there was a certain someone a tad jealous of how he could do so without hesitation or worry.

The pair ate quietly, talking in hushed tones for Mikaela's benefit. She roused about forty minutes after Sam, got her breakfast, and ate it quickly.

"So… what do you guys do all day?" Miles inquired.

"…Nothing?" settled Sam eventually. When Miles stared blankly, he added, "There's not a whole lot to do. Mostly we go out front and watch Yellow. We dragged a blanket out there. Mikaela and me, we mostly just stay there and talk and watch him do stuff. Sometimes we pester him into letting us up on the desk, and sometimes we'll make up games with this wire Mikaela convinced him to get for us, but… it's pretty boring overall. It's like a summer vacation gone horribly awry."

Mikaela confirmed his account with a small nod. "There's definitely a lot of sleeping and lounging in our daily schedules." A couple times, fearing the effect such general inactivity would have on her health, she'd tried working out in place by jogging, doing aerobics, and so on. Yellow had grown so concerned from her behavior, however, that she was very careful not to repeat herself whenever he was around.

Miles did not like the sound of purposefully going out and attempting to relax around a mech.

"Uh, you guys can go ahead and do that – I'll take a rain check. I think I'll hang back here for today," he told them.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "You think we'd go off and leave you here?"

"I think not," Mikaela finished for him. "If you want to stay here today, we totally get it. There's no big difference between what that room has to offer and what this room has to offer. No loss."

And so, the first day, Miles did not step foot out of Yellow's room. The collection of teenagers spent even more hours talking, and each tried their hand at juggling with the three empty food packets (Miles was the only one any good at it). Miles was the first to doze off during the day, and Sam and Mikaela were very careful not to wake him.

They took turns drifting off to sleep for an hour after that. Once they got that bout of laziness out of the way, they took turns trying to repeat games they'd seen on a television show called 'Whose Line is it Anyway?' It had, at one time, been Miles's favorite show. Of the games, the two favorites were trying to speak only in questions and trying to speak only in song titles.

Yellow checked on them towards what felt like mid-afternoon. If Sam and Mikaela hadn't noticed Yellow's entrance, they could have gleaned it from the way Miles paused and inhaled a single, calming breath. The mech came to the center of his room and lowered to the floor to peer under the bed.

"Don't worry – he used to do this to us when we first came here, too," Mikaela commented on the actions.

Meanwhile, Yellow got settled where he was, whirring and clicking and chirping like a strange, mechanical mix between cat and bird.

All three humans watched Yellow tap his fingers in a way Sam and Mikaela recognized as inviting.

"Aw, he wants to play with you," teased Mikaela.

Miles snapped his eyes to her. "He wants to what?"

"Play. Don't let Mikaela fool you; it creeped her out at first, too," Sam answered before his girlfriend could. Then, to Miles's muted horror, Sam crawled out to meet Yellow. Miles looked on in awe as Yellow traced Sam with his optics, clicked at him, and then brought the finger-tapping hand toward him to rub his back. Miles internally gaped when Sam began wrestling a few robotic fingers. "See?" Sam called back, strained through his effort to overpower the equivalent of an index finger.

The mech shifted – Sam went unfazed, but Miles knew that had he been out there he would have gone flailing at a full-body move – so that he could use his other hand to try coaxing Miles out. Miles stayed rooted. Mikaela, on the other hand, shrugged and crawled out to join her boyfriend and alien owner. Yellow pet her as well, and Mikaela sat down near his slightly elevated chest, happily soaking up the warmth it emitted.

Although they painted an interesting picture, Miles could not find it in himself to join them. Yellow continued to try for another fifteen minutes or so. Finally, he had to return to whatever it was he'd been doing, and he left them in peace.

"It's okay," Sam had comforted him later on about his inability to join in. "You'll understand eventually. It took us a while to trust him."

That had been the highlight of that day.

The second day started in a near-identical manner. Only after Sam was semi-conscious did Miles go take care of his morning business. They woke in the same order, with Mikaela coming to early enough to eat breakfast with them, and sat for a while talking.

"I want to try," Miles eventually said. To his friends it sounded completely random. To him, it was the conclusion of nearly twenty minutes of consideration.

"Try what?" probed Sam.

Miles nodded to himself. "Sitting out there with you."

That took Sam and Mikaela by surprise. Mikaela made to reassure him that he wasn't being pressured into anything and that they didn't mind staying in the room, but Miles had none of that. "What I'm doing," he told her, maybe not as confident as he hoped to sound, "is for me. I don't want to sit around and let Indy keep winning. He's done enough damage, and I'm not going to let him have this hold over me any longer than I have to."

In that moment, Sam realized just how strong a person Miles had been all those years. He couldn't believe he'd never noticed what was lurking underneath the carefree surface.

When they were all ready, they migrated to the front room. Miles wasn't in front, but he set the pace. Especially when they first stepped out of the hall and into the room, and a glance from Yellow had him frozen in place, Mikaela and Sam were more than willing to wait with him.

Yellow was extra careful not to crowd them that day, instead leaving them entirely to their own devices. Miles periodically glanced over at the mech throughout all of their conversations. He put forth a great effort to keep talking even after the mech stood up, but he was able to relax when Yellow waved at them once and then left the house entirely.

With the house to themselves, Mikaela gave him an unofficial tour while Sam tried to get Softie's room open. Sam could not open the door, to his disappointment. They grabbed lunch and ate it in the main room.

Yellow had still not returned by the time they retreated to his room for dinner and then sleep.

While drifting off, Miles remarked that it hadn't been nearly as bad as he thought it would be. Shortly after, he admitted that was probably because Yellow had been gone most of the day, but nevertheless!

On the third day after Black-and-White left Miles in Yellow's care, the mech returned.

Shortly after the threesome awoke and finished their breakfasts they made their way to the main room. Miles spared Yellow only a passing glance when the mech – working on something that looked a bit thicker than the average tablet – greeted them with an enthusiastic chirping. His shoulders involuntarily gave a little twitch, but already it was nothing like it had been three mornings prior.

Some thirty minutes in, Yellow stood. Miles half expected him to leave again, and grew nervous when he did not. Yellow approached them cautiously and extended his arm in the same manner he had the very first day. Miles was able to control himself long enough to observe that the fruit of choice this time was pears. After each human had claimed a pear, Yellow retreated to his desk, allowing them to eat without an audience.

The pears were long gone when the interruption came. Three cores, one accidently bitten in two, were the only signs of their existence. Knowing it would be futile, Miles was attempting to stand a pear core upright when a series of (relatively gentle) bangs rattled the front door.

The knocking had all four of the room's occupants turning to investigate, although hands down, Miles was the quickest and sharpest to do so. While Yellow went to answer the summons, Mikaela absentmindedly rubbed one of Miles's arms to reassure him.

Yellow ushered in the now-familiar form of Miles's black and white captor/rescuer. The taller mech did not acknowledge the teenagers for a long while. He spoke instead to Yellow, at one point emphasizing a carrying cage – almost identical to Sam and Mikaela's own, only this one was clearly designed to carry no more than two people – which he held against his side.

The aliens continued talking for perhaps another minute, all the while allowing an unwanted sense of dread to start bubbling up in a certain blonde boy's stomach.

It was blatantly obvious why B-'n-W was here. The prospect of leaving with the mech in itself was not as terrifying as it should've been. Not knowing what would happen after he left with the mech definitely was. Where might he end up? Who might he end up with? Would they be a Red or a Blue?

Miles was very hesitant in the way he glanced from mech to mech, waiting for one of them to make the first move.

The first to do something more than talk was B-'n-W, who moved his focus smoothly to Miles while still talking to Yellow. Miles inhaled as calmly as he could, trying to ignore the inherent creepiness of the action. The yellow mech wasn't perturbed by his friend's split attention; the latter nodded in response to something Yellow said, which elicited another of Yellow's chirrups. In contrast to the noise – so it appeared – Yellow left for the utilities room. As the mech left, B-'n-W bent down to place the carrier on the ground.

Even though Miles eyed it with some trepidation, he was not gestured into the thing. The mech straightened up soon after and followed after Yellow. The meeting of mechs in the other room offered the three friends a moment of reprieve and preparation.

"Well, I, uh…" the blonde started shakily, consciously reigning himself back in. "I guess this is goodbye… again. It was fun while it lasted."

Sam dared to really grin this time – nothing like the phony smiles of their first separation. "We really know now that there's a foundation for saying it won't be forever. Maybe B-'n-W will bring you over for play dates?"

Not trying to be pessimistic, but coming across as such, Miles returned, "Who says I'm going to be staying with him? He's just the one that caught me. Who knows where he's going to send me now?" Clearly Sam hadn't thought of that possibility. His frozen, thought-heavy face was proof enough of that. Miles laughed. "Thinking doesn't look too hot on you, my friend. Don't worry Sam; I'm sure I'll be fine."

He may have said something similar when Indy took him from the pet store – and he certainly hadn't been fine that time – but it was much easier to say now, surprisingly enough. Even at the pet store he hadn't really thought mechs would be easy to live with. Now he saw it could be done. Yellow didn't seem half bad. He still wasn't easy around him, but Miles knew that wasn't Yellow's fault.

"I'll be fine," Miles repeated. He enveloped Sam in a great hug.

"I'm sure you will, man," agreed Sam. He hugged back. "I can't picture a Blue giving you away to anyone who'd be bad to you."

Uncertain how to respond to that, Miles just hugged tighter and then let go. Mikaela swept down on him, placing a hand on his arm.

"Please, Miles. It might be hard, but promise you'll try. Promise us you won't give a mech any reason to mistreat you," said Mikaela, very serious.

Miles pulled her into a hug. "I'll try, I promise." He rubbed her back briefly and then let her go. "But I can't promise I'll behave if they start it first."

"Wouldn't expect you to," Sam grinned. "You're allowed to give hell when hell is given to you first."

"Hopefully it's never given at all," wished Mikaela in earnest.

Not long after that, Yellow and B-'n-W reentered the room. The mechs watched the humans' final interactions for a moment, and then B-'n-W nodded at Yellow and approached the carrier again. He crouched next to it and whistled low, drawing everyone's attention. He sought Miles's eyes and gestured – hopefully? – at the carrier.

"I better go before he makes me," muttered Miles, valiantly trying not to recall the many times he'd been grabbed. He slowly walked to the carrier and sat himself down inside. He was forcing himself to stay calm when B-'n-W closed the door, making Miles jump slightly. At least he could say he went of his own accord this time. That was a plus. He grinned out at his friends even as his mini-cage was lifted. "I think I got this this time."

"You best," Sam called up at him.

The two aliens said their own good-byes, and then, once again, Miles was carried out of Sam's life towards something unknown.

This time, Sam felt a lot better about the prospects.

* * *

The two orns following Prowl's retrieval of Quirk were fairly mundane. Bumblebee had been very pleased to observe no undesirable effects from Quirk's time spent there. If anything, Signal and Complement were livelier in the cycles immediately after his departure.

On the fifth cycle after they had the apartment back to themselves – as the commotion Quirk had caused waned – Bumblebee decided to see how his humans reacted to water. He had wanted to try washing them for some time now, but had never just filled the sink and tried. After Prowl regaled him with a story about washing Quirk ("_**poor thing might've drowned, but I think from fear of me, not of the water**_"), Bee finally decided, why not? It was worth a try.

Bee had filled the sink like Prowl detailed, adding a small amount of cleaning solution that turned the water slightly opaque and dotted the surface in places with bubbles. He had then taken both his humans and placed them on the counter alongside the basin. The mech had hoped the pair of them would take to the water by themselves so that he need not force them or waste the water.

Surprise did not begin to explain how the ex-scout felt when Complement surveyed the water, bore her teeth at Signal, then jumped in with a cry and a splash.

The human did not surface at once. Bumblebee immediately tightened his hold on the counter and leaned over the watery basin. His optics flitted over the surface of the water where she had entered, counting ripple after ripple she had created. Bee looked worriedly at Signal. The second organic had yet to repeat his partner's behavior, and was instead staring at the mech's reactions.

They held each others' gaze for a strange, intense moment, but they broke the connection when a second splashing of water – this time accompanied by a rush of air into small, organic lungs – caught their attention.

"_**Oh, thank Primus,**_" Bee muttered. Complement had resurfaced. She did not seem stressed by the aquatic setting, and was certainly holding her own in keeping herself afloat. Bumblebee was still marveling at the idea of an organism that could be terminated by so much water being so comfortable in it when the female did a little spin and vocalized a summons to Signal. Or, Bee assumed it was a summons, since Signal jumped down into the water right after the call.

Signal had as much aptitude for the water as Complement. Amused, Bumblebee crouched down just enough to rest an arm across the counter and his head atop that. He quietly observed them swimming through the soapy water – both at and below its surface using various sweeping limb motions – and ungracefully freeing themselves from their adornments. Complement in particular made a spectacle of splashing her whole head into the water and scrabbling her fingers through her long, dark hair. Signal did something similar, but his attempts lasted a fraction of the time.

It didn't take long for the ex-Autobot to gather that his grown, tame humans were accustomed to grooming themselves with the aid of an abundant water source. He was momentarily disappointed that his assistance wasn't needed, though that feeling didn't last long. Bee was much more pleased than disappointed, seeing the pair of them so happy.

He really did feel guilty about not providing them this courtesy sooner.

The pair of humans splashed around a good five breems. Like it became obvious that his humans knew how to bathe themselves, it became obvious that both had degraded into merely enjoying themselves with no higher purpose than personal entertainment.

Only when Signal swam back to the side of the sink and tried – and failed – to climb out did Bumblebee intervene by offering assistance. Bee dipped his hand into the water and scooped Signal into it. "_**Can't leave dried soap on to irritate your fragile organic skin, can we?**_" mused the mech, who followed Prowl's advice and quickly rinsed the human off under the faucet. At first Signal was surprised, but he quickly calmed. Once he was rinsed off Bee presented his pet with a clean, dry rag, which Signal immediately began rubbing about in. Apparently, they also knew how to dry themselves. After he dropped a clean set of fabrics near Signal, Bee turned back to Complement.

"_**You ready to come out yet?**_" he queried.

Complement measured him and his partially lowered hand. She slipped back beneath the water's surface and leisurely swam over to meet him. He repeated the process with her, although she utilized the faucet-rinse to rapidly repeat her head-cleaning motions.

Between them it wasn't even a breem before they were (mostly) dry and re-covered in garments. Only the collection of hair on their heads remained damp. Bumblebee assumed that there was little he could do short of sticking them in front of a warm vent that would help with that. It didn't seem like it was too important an issue, especially considering neither human was making a fuss about it.

Armed with the knowledge that his humans enjoyed baths, he promised himself to give them the opportunity at least once an orn from then on.

Beyond the special excitement of the bathing experience, Signal and Complement were back to their old ways immediately. They hid under his berth only for sleeping, spent nearly all of their time awake wherever he was, and pestered him to let them up on his desk when he was working on something.

The ex-scout was always happy to let them onto his desktop. They knew not to bother him if he really needed to get something done, and always provided the perfect distraction for when matters weren't so pressing.

Today happened to be one of those times.

Bumblebee was just finishing the last report of the orn (some nonsense about geology constraints in the construction zone). Signal and Complement were taking turns flopping around on the datapad Bee had given them some time ago, creating streaks and blobs of green and becoming fascinated by them. Chuckling to himself – Complement had just thrown herself down and was now wiggling about like a loose, sparking wire – Bee signed his own screen and then turned the thing off.

He watched silently for a breem, then interrupted them with two of the fresh Earth foods that he liked treating them with. His pets stopped and accepted the treats, munching away, satiated. Bee turned his head contemplatively to the side, remembering a tidbit of information he had filed away earlier that cycle.

"_**I saw you were starting to run out of food this morning, hm?**_" noted Bee, absentmindedly stroking Complement. Plus, he'd been meaning to buy some more soft, cloth bedding for them. They had divided his initial set up into two beds: the one below his berth, and the one in the main living quarters. He wanted both to be as comfy as the original, so doubling the padding on each would do the trick. A trip to Dropkick's shop would remedy both. He had free time at the moment…

Bumblebee gave each an enthusiastic rubbing in place of a farewell. He removed them from his desk, told them he'd be right back, and excused himself from the complex.

On the way to the store, he started to wonder if maybe he should maximize the time spent out and pay the Ark another visit, perhaps see how Softspark was coming along. The idea was drifting around in his processors for no more than a breem when a pair of mechs – deep in conversation – crossed onto his path from another street. One was black, the other black and white; they were impossible not to recognize, and Bumblebee chirred excitedly. What a crazy coincidence!

"_**Hey! Ironhide, Prowl!**_" Bee called out, waving a hand. The weapons specialist turned first, Prowl getting another step before pausing and rotating. Both mechs waited for the ex-scout to catch up with them, the former with a twinge of excitement on his faceplates, the latter with his usual bland look. "_**What are you guys doing here?**_"

Prowl beat Ironhide to the punch, offering, "_**We are just now returning from a consultation.**_"

"_**What about?**_"

"_**The defenses for the addition,**_" grinned Ironhide. "_**Prime insisted I get to oversee that division for now. Prowl got to oversee the meeting and lay down all the restrictions.**_" The two older mechs glanced at one another. It was clear from Ironhide's tone and stance that he was going to have fun with this opportunity, ready and willing to fit the new colonial section with more defenses and backup artillery than would ever be needed. It was less clear whether Prowl was put off or secretly amused by the slightly war-mongering antics of his ex-comrade.

"_**Sounds fun. Where are you off to now?**_"

"_**Pet store,**_" said Ironhide shortly. "_**Softspark's running low on food, and I think she needs more of those things they wear. Afterwards I plan on loosening up my cannons in the Ark's practice room.**_"

That sounded plenty more fun than the mechs' new jobs, but to avoid repeating himself, Bumblebee looked expectantly at Prowl.

"_**I have forms to file for this venture, as well as a response to submit to a Kaon subordinate who needs advice on a case involving human neglect. And, on that very topic, Quirk needs to be released from his drawer now.**_"

Bumblebee stalled. "_**You keep him in a drawer?**_"

"_**It's not in its cabinet,**_" Prowl assured with an underlying darkness to his optics. "_**I only place him there when I know I will be gone for long periods of time, because I do not want him accidentally hurting himself. I am not that horrible a pet owner, Bumblebee.**_"

The yellow mech's sudden fright dissipated. Still, he felt the need to point out, "_**I don't think you need to do that… I leave my two out all the time, and they've never gotten into trouble by themselves. I'm sure he'd appreciate it, too.**_"

Prowl did not provide his opinion on whether or not humans could 'appreciate' anything. Instead he gave a permissive "_**perhaps**_" and decided to give his home a final human-proofing and attempt leaving Quirk out during his next errand.

They walked together as far as the pet store, even though it was slightly out of Prowl's way. There, he said his polite, candid farewells and continued on toward his own apartment complex. Trio reduced to a duo, Ironhide and Bumblebee entered the store and collected their items. All the while Bumblebee began planning another get together, convinced that nothing could be more important to a human's prolonged mental health than interactions with others.

* * *

After being so used to crumbling buildings, sirens warning of impending assaults, the cries of injured and enraged mechs, and the sounds of gunfire both distant and close-quarters, being able to walk through a seemingly pristine Iacon was a treat. Vorns after the ceasefire, Jazz still occasionally caught himself being amazed by the change.

Teams of ex-Autobots and ex-Decepticons alike had worked tirelessly to rebuild Cybertron's most iconic cities and historic sites scathed from millennia upon millennia of warfare. There was still plenty of work to be done elsewhere, and still work to be done in seemingly recovered places like Iacon. And, of course, the feel of the cities could never possibly return in full – that much was obvious. Whole generations of culture and ideas had been lost to the fighting. It was an immeasurable, irreplaceable loss that Jazz had a feeling not many were wholly aware of.

Still, the progress that _had_ been made was something else, and unquestionably amazing in spite of all of the lurking pessimisms.

The silvery ex-Autobot smiled at a passing pair of boisterous mechs. They were smaller in height than he was, though built fairly stockier. One was a mix of red, black, and silver, the other similar expect red was replaced with green. A third mech – purplish-black, taller, but still stocky – followed only a short distance behind them, indicating all three may have been together. Additionally, all three shared tell-tale blue optics.

The cause for his smiling, however, was not any of the mechs. Instead, it was an even smaller being: a human that trailed grudgingly behind the first two yet before the third. The Earthling was male, or so Jazz thought. Its body looked of the masculine persuasion, but whereas most of the males he'd glimpsed or studied had cranial hair that did not extend past the bottom of the face, this one's wavy-textured, dark hair hung just past that.

Jazz swore he'd seen the mechs before, though he could not recall their names, or when or where an earlier encounter would have occurred. The green one turned slightly and gestured toward the human, who Jazz now saw had a wide gold-and-silver band fitted around one of its arms. The circlet moved slightly, meaning it wasn't too tight, but did not jangle excessively, and was in such a texture and finish that it looked almost like it came from the mechs' own plating.

The dark-haired human looked even more begrudging at the gesturing and subsequent calling. Its dark eyes strayed defiantly to the side, sweeping upwards instantly to Jazz's face. Jazz merely smiled again; the human didn't like that at all. It growled to itself and looked the other way after suffering some sort of eye and general muscle spasm. None of his fellow Cybertronians gave him more than a passing look, and the whole group was gone shortly.

Poor little guy. That had been the third human Jazz had seen outside with its owners on his walk to the Senate sub-chamber. One had been even more displeased than this one, the other thrilled to be out.

The walk led him past several more mechs. That, too, was a nice change from the barren streets and nervous, desperate mechs of war time. Simultaneously, it was another example of positive change that would likely never measure up to the original. Once upon a time, the streets of Iacon had been littered with mechs and femmes, talking and laughing and going about their lives.

Contenting himself with pleasant memories of a different Cybertron – a Cybertron before Megatron had first started to gather a following – Jazz moved with a new purpose to the sub-chamber.

This was not a casual meeting, that much was certain. He'd been summoned specifically by Optimus on a private channel that had been largely inactive since the ceasefire. That was proof enough that Prime didn't want anyone intercepting the message. Then there was the meeting place itself: private enough for a secret encounter to be held, yet public enough to allay most suspicions. Optimus had told him the discussion they were going to have would be brief – another ward for suspicious spectators.

Well, _Jazz_ was suspicious. He was suspicious, eager, and nervous all at once.

No matter the subject matter, at least he'd get another chance to speak to Optimus. And, just maybe, it _was_ going to be a casual gathering. Who was he to judge Optimus's unusual choice in meeting places and means of communication?

The Senate sub-chamber was more of a sub-sub-chamber. The main Senate building, which had been one of the first buildings rebuilt starting even before the shaky peace accords went into effect, was an impressive structure due to architecture, not size. Designed to house only the traditional twenty-mech Senate, there were plenty of buildings larger than it. Not many, however, were granted the intricacies of the Senate building's exterior, where no expense had been spared. There were columns and all manners of geometric arches, effective armaments, archaic carvings and writings, spirals, sizeable windows with imaginative in-laid patterns of metallic rods and shrapnel, and a short series of stairs, each coated with a slightly different metal and engraved with special characters from the language of the Primes.

Attached to the back of the main structure was the initial sub-chamber. As the name suggested, most of its volume extended underground. Compared to the main building, the annex was of laughable creative design. That addition was used very frequently for informal sessions and meetings, and was known not as the sub-chamber but as the Recess.

Then, below that, was the true sub-chamber. It, too, was used for informal meetings, but nowhere near as frequently as the Recess.

Jazz bypassed the Senate main doors and entered through the Recess's main doors instead. There were four mechs inside – two obvious former Decepticons, one a former Autobot, the final either former Autobot or former Neutral. The ex-Bot had been talking to one of the ex-Cons when Jazz entered. Now, they both stared at him.

"_**Can we help you with something?**_" the ex-Con – who Jazz was pretty sure he'd seen somewhere before, and a name like 'Fallback' was coming to mind – asked without insinuation of any kind.

No outward signs revealed Jazz's excitement. It would always thrill him, he assumed, to come across ex-Cons able and willing to forgive past differences… especially since so many barely refrained from antagonizing and instigating conflicts. Not three cycles earlier, an ex-Con had tried to goad him into a brawl!

"_**Nah, I got this. Just meeting someone downstairs,**_" he explained laxly. The other two mechs exchanged glances, the ex-Bot blinked, and 'Fallback' shrugged. "_**Thanks anyway.**_"

The four resumed their activities (the potential Neutral was filing something, the other ex-Con doing Primus knew what on a computer). Jazz gave a final wave and wandered off out of the main room. He went for the second elevator, not the first, and descended into the sub-chamber, all the while glancing about distractedly at the walls. His directions to room 4101 led him towards the outer stretch of the subterranean building. As he walked, it became more and more apparent that this part of the sub-chamber was visited with minimalist regularity.

There was something incredibly out of place in seeing Optimus Prime standing calmly outside the door to one of the rooms. Everything about the mech begged for a more appropriate locale, and yet…

"_**Been waitin' long?**_" said Jazz in lieu of a proper greeting. Prime looked over at him immediately. "_**I'da been here sooner, but this place is so dodgy, I had to take my time; someone mighta jumped me from outa one of the storerooms otherwise.**_"

"_**Jazz,**_" Optimus returned with a sparkfelt smile and partial laugh. They shook hands, a mix between formal and friendly, leaning more towards friendly. Then, Prime showed his ex-comrade into the room he was waiting outside of. "_**It's wonderful to see you again. Thank you for coming.**_"

"_**Same to you, Boss-bot – and it's nothin'. More 'n happy to come.**_" The room was small and unremarkable, and Jazz was left wondering what purpose it could possibly serve other than to host private rendezvous with questionable intents. Once the doorway was cleared, Prime closed them in. Optimus indicated the small table in the center of the room with a hand.

Truth be told, Jazz was not a fan of tables. Sitting at a table could make a friendly conversation feel like something much more serious. Any conversation _requiring_ a table was sure to be somber from the start. The smaller mech's weak hopes for a friendly get-together melted away and Jazz finally accepted that whatever he had been called here for was probably the most important thing he'd been told in some time now.

"_**A small, secretive room? No one else? An old section in the sub-chambers of the Senate? Talking at a **_**table**_**?**_" asked Jazz while he sat down. He watched Optimus step around the offensive piece of furniture to sit across from him. The circular table was small enough that they would be able to touch hands had they reached across for one another, and still it made Jazz feel awkward. "_**Just what are you up to, Optimus? If anyone finds out about this, mechs are gonna talk.**_"

Optimus studied him for a moment. "_**Some already do know. If they talk, we will tell them what I've told your predecessors to tell them: a new regulatory body is being formed.**_"

"… _**Regulating what, exactly? Surely not housing codes. Housing codes don't require secret meetings of any kind, let alone ones as candid and to the point as you said this one would be,**_" Jazz pointed out with a hint of conspiracy. "_**I know you're probably about to get yourself into something that could put you in a troublesome position, and I know you know that I know.**_"

"_**You are right,**_" the red and blue mech confirmed needlessly.

Jazz broke into a grin. "_**I'm proud of ya.**_"

Optimus could not help but smile at that. "_**Your approval means plenty.**_"

They were quiet for only a short moment, since Jazz would not allow any uncomfortable silence to form. "_**So what exactly are you tryin' ta get tangled up in? Or get me tangled up in for ya, I should say? I can't think of many things that might need 'regulating' that would cause serious harm to public relations.**_" Although it was spoken nonchalantly he meant it seriously.

"_**Yet again, you're entirely correct. Few things have such potential to harm what little harmony we possess. I am well aware that some rumors already exist about this, but I cannot deny that I have grown wary that we are not receiving fully credible intelligence from Earth,**_" said Prime quietly, as though someone might overhear and the war would start up again that very instant.

Behind his visor, Jazz's optics refocused on his long-time friend. "_**I get the feelin' you're talking about something more realistic than Starscream flyin' loose around the place and raisin' new forces in Megatron's absence.**_" The ex-saboteur tapped his fingers on the table. He had to admit that the ability to tap on tables improved their overall image a teeny bit. "_**What is it?**_"

"_**The few regulations we've managed to get in place to control the distribution of that planet's native life forms, I fear, are not being followed in the slightest.**_" Optimus glanced briefly to the door. "_**Many are aware of my position on the so-called 'human business,' and I'd rather the whole venture cease to exist. But, I recognize that it's highly unlikely that will ever happen, and have had to settle for attempts to keep the practice less trying on the poor creatures. On nearly every level of the process, I believe those measures are being sidestepped.**_"

That wouldn't surprise Jazz one bit. The trade was almost entirely run by ex-Cons! There was little more that could be expected of them, as harsh and stereotyping as it sounded.

"_**And now, ya plannin' on doing something about this, I take it.**_" Prime did not nod since the answer was already blatant. "_**What? And where do I fit into all this?**_"

Optimus placed both hands on the table. "_**The fact of the matter is, I've already spoken to a few mechs about this, your old friend Crosswise included. There is simply too much going on right now to make action logical or feasible. Stanix's new defenses are in the middle of Red Alert's final tests, Kalis is about to undergo its own severe re-fitting for defenses, Verita Pax is undergoing a sizeable expansion, and Praxus is about to enter the second stage of reconstruction.**_

"_**While we may be unable to start anything at this time, we're able to plan. Jazz, you are renowned for your skills, and were always one of my most reliable comrades.**_"

Jazz raised his head. Had he not already been intrigued, that statement would have done the trick. Jazz's set of skills were a tad uncommon and more than a little specialized. Optimus had no need to highlight that well-known bit of information unless… "_**What do you have planned, Optimus? It can't be something little league.**_"

"_**For now, very little,**_" the Prime admitted anticlimactically. Somehow, Jazz couldn't believe that sitting down. "_**I'm in no position – with the sensitivity of our species' situation – to instigate anything at the level I would like. That's why I'm giving you most of the freedom in planning this out for yourself, but within limits.**_" He smiled. "_**We cannot appear to immediately incriminate the trade, especially given the makeup of its participants.**_" Well, that much was fairly obvious. Unless the violations were so egregious that most of the population was against them, targeting a nearly one-hundred percent ex-Decepticon institution would seem like unnecessary instigation to many mechs. "_**For now, I simply need precise, low-key, very covert reassurances,**_" said Prime, never once openly asking for spying or infiltration, "_**that the trade stays within its guidelines. Between you, Crosswise, and Firewall – with you at the head of the venture, naturally – I believe an acceptable plan can be formulated and eventually fall into place.**_"

Jazz had experience working with both mechs mentioned. His processors itched at the word 'eventually.' "_**When's the window you're aiming for in trying to secure these 'reassurances?'**_"

"_**As soon as possible, preferably beginning around the time that Kalis's defenses are starting to be planned; a distraction like that would be perfect for you. The others have already agreed to begin working with you upon your acceptance of the task,**_" Prime assured with confidence.

"_**So, get in contact with Firewall and Crosswise, get our approaches straight within the next two or three orns, get in to make sure the rules are bein' followed, make sure the humans aren't getting the rough end of the gears too badly, and report back to you, all without raisin' a fuss either internally or publically, because that would be real disastrous for this whole 'semblance of peace' thing we got goin' on?**_" summarized the silver mech, his tone practically grinning.

Prime gave him a single, almost-amused nod.

Openly grinning now, Jazz leaned forward over the table.

"_**Sounds like serious business to me. Something like that could really benefit from what I have to offer…**_"

Which was just what Optimus Prime wanted to hear.

* * *

"_**Starscream!**_"

The call nearly stung as it grated its way through the unnatural Martian cave. Ceiling, walls, and floor were scarred, indicative of the initial plasma and high frequency blasts that had carved it out.

Red optics opened the tiniest fragment at the most unwelcome intrusion.

Starscream did not like intruders. He did not like any form of visitors.

He especially did not like when others addressed him solely by his name, since each call reminded him of Megatron's summons.

The Seeker did not turn to acknowledge the mech. A brushing of energy signatures revealed the mech's identity easily enough.

"_**What do you want, Kickstart? You know how I feel about mechs barging in here unannounced,**_" the would-be Decepticon leader hissed irately.

"_**Barricade sent me straight to you with a most urgent message.**_"

"_**One that you had to present to me physically?**_" So much more than irritated already – he had not had a very good cycle preceding this house call – Starscream turned away from the plans he had been scraping into the alien rock. "_**What could possibly be that important?**_"

Kickstart was far less cramped in the mech-made cave than Starscream, his smaller size and lack of wings giving him ample room. Still, he looked somewhat claustrophobic once Starscream turned on him.

"_**We found him.**_"

That erased the fugitive Seeker's anger – but only for a moment. If Kickstart sensed the growing fury beneath Starscream's calm appearance, he made no motion to suggest it. "_**Who did the finding?**_" The true bite to the demand was barely restrained.

Kickstart straightened. "_**Frenzy, on Barricade's orders.**_"

"_**Explain.**_"

"_**Frenzy was tearing through the high priority sections of the fleshies' downed networks and managed to salvage several pertinent files. The connections were so ruined that they didn't last long, but it was enough to discover that he was found by the humans some time ago, and is currently in a state of cryogenic recharge. Other than that, he is unharmed and ready to be rescued.**_"

"_**And who else has Barricade told?**_" tested Starscream, daring the absent, Earth-bound mech to have defied the orders that he himself had been given.

"_**He's yet to tell anyone else of the news. Barricade didn't even tell me; I was there when Frenzy relayed the findings.**_" Kickstart gave an unkind laugh. "_**I don't think the little glitch meant to inform me, but his fragged systems made the short range transmission send to me as well. Barricade instructed me to come straight to you, insisting that you would prefer informing – Arghk!**_"

Kickstart's surprised cry morphed quickly from discernable sounds to a mechanical scream that was perhaps even more grating than his initial calling of Starscream's name. However, this was not the mech's fault. A stab to the chassis right below the spark casing generally elicited such agonized cries.

Starscream held the mech there a second, studying the way his hands tried to grasp the blade in his systems and pull it out. "_**Pity you were such a supporter of his,**_" the Seeker insincerely apologized. He braced his arm and jabbed the blade higher, cutting through the mech's spark casing with a second cry, the searing of metal, and blue-white arcs of dying light. Only once Kickstart's optics turned black and the last trace of electricity fled from his frame did Starscream retract his blade.

"_**Megatron does not deserve rescuing yet,**_" snarled Starscream, wiping a bit of energon from the weapon. "_**If he is awakened before we secure the Allspark, Prime will ruin everything. Besides, if the almighty Megatron managed to get himself frozen, another vorn or two or hundred should matter little to him in the long run.**_"

Starscream was not about to sacrifice the strides he had made towards securing the Allspark or the strides the rest of the dismantled faction made toward reviving their species while he watched and quietly directed, conniving, from the sidelines.

Megatron had been a fool in his approach to the war, destroying so many femmes and sparklings and the scientific endeavors that Starscream had once been so passionate about. The Seeker was not prepared to return the sadistic, processor-less tyrant to his position any time soon.

How fortunate was he that Barricade was so easily swayed? With Starscream's promise of profit and allowance of destruction – Barricade may well have been the mech most responsible for reducing the Western human civilizations to mere ghosts of their former 'power,' and was paid greatly for his efforts and loyalty – the mech could care little whether it was Megatron or Starscream to whom he ultimately answered.

For now, Megatron would have to remain patient.

For now, Starscream had something else to factor into any future plans.

For now, the exploitation of Earth's resources and its connection to Cybertronian expansion and survival could continue to grow unobstructed.

* * *

A.N.

I must find a better way to connect some of the major events/scenes I have planned. Actually, a lot of the already-pressed time I had for writing this chapter was spent considering that very dilemma.

To clarify: at this stage of the game, Optimus is not insinuating to Jazz that humans could be sentient, nor asking Jazz to try and find that out. He is only concerned – right now – with whether or not the mechs in charge of the trade are following the guidelines that were put in place to protect the humans during processing (which, coincidentally, are not really being followed).

And when Jazz said 'make sure the humans aren't getting the rough end of the gears,' it's supposed to be the equivalent of 'the short end of the stick,' in case you hadn't gathered already (which, also in case you hadn't gathered throughout the course of the story, is exactly what the humans are getting). :D

Yay! First chapter posted on my laptop! _Crazy._


	12. Mech's Best Friend

**Title: **Property Of

**Rating: **T

**Summary:** During Cybertronian 'peace,' ex-Cons hide the sentience of and sell humans as pets to secure Earth. Sam and Mikaela might just be the first to grasp the reality of the situation alongside their new owner.

**Chapter: **Mech's Best Friend

Welcome back! This time, I post from college, and on my own for the first time in my life. Needless to say, these have been some major life changes. College is a time consuming thing, I've already discovered. I've had orientation after orientation after getting-lost-learning the campus after new class after homework.

Either way, I made sure to set some time aside for this. I'm just sorry it couldn't be more. Believe it or not, since I last updated, I've only had about 5 days wherein I had access to these document files and _didn't_ have a new college to worry about.

Now, let's take some looks at precisely what Starscream was mentioning last time: the growing presence/influence of humans/the human trade/Earth in general in Cybertronian society and relationships. Heads up – no human perspective in this chapter, just to stress that point.

* * *

_Time lapse: approximately three (3) orns since Prowl's acquisition of a human pet, approximately two (2) orns since Jazz's acceptance of an infiltration mission from Prime himself._

* * *

It wasn't that Chromia disliked Elita-1 or thought she was stupid or anything. On the contrary! Chromia loved and respected her best friend as one of the strongest, most tactically wise and loyal Cybertronians that she knew of. The blue femme would do just about anything for the purple-red, now-unofficial femme leader.

So, when Chromia said that having to be stationed away from Ironhide was one of the stupidest, evilest, most arcane forms of cruel, unusual, and unnecessary punishment she'd ever had the displeasure to endure, she meant so with all possible respect to the femme who'd given the order.

Chromia muttered to herself angrily as she checked and double checked the coordinates on the ship's main computer. She edited the coordinates slightly, using more force than was strictly necessary on the key pad.

"_**Watch it, Chromia,**_" laughed the very femme Chromia had been contemplating. "_**Start talking to yourself and attacking computer keys, and mechs will start thinking you've fried your processors. What's the matter?**_"

"_**Nothing. Just wondering why in the name of Primus I'm sitting at this console and not next to Ironhide,**_" she answered at length, remembering to check her tone. She wasn't angry at Elita, she was angry at the situation. Unfortunately, she forgot to check how much she said. "_**It's not like bonded couples didn't spend enough time apart **_**during**_** the slagging war, now we don't get to be together even **_**after **_**it? How is **_**that **_**fair? I mean, why are we even out here anyway?**__"_

Elita laughed again. "_**Trust me, I get it. Sometimes I wonder the same thing. Don't you think I'd rather be spending some quality time with Optimus? Not that he has a whole lot of time to do anything at the moment,**_" she added as a disappointed afterthought. "_**It won't be long now. We dock in Libertia Maxus next cycle, and then you'll have an orn of downtime. You're free to catch the first shuttle to Verita Pax and spend the time with 'Hide if you want.**_"

Chromia detected a hint of sarcasm in her friend's voice. "_**Don't think I won't. It may look like I'm helping direct this ship, but I'm secretly checking shuttle schedules.**_" As of about half a second ago, that was a true statement. Elita didn't reveal whether or not she believed Chromia's assertion. Her only response was an ambiguous laugh that could have been interpreted as sheer amusement or plain disbelief. Chromia leaned towards the former. "_**You think no one's onto you, Elita. Well, I have news for you! I'm not so certain it's fair that you keep most of us away from our mechs because you can't spend the time you want with yours! We know it's not only a desire to be of use that keeps us stationed out here, you sneaky little femme, you. Misery loves company.**_"

"_**Perhaps,**_" said Elita wistfully. She smiled. "_**But, I won't be spilling all my motives to you any time soon. Just mute your vocals and focus on making sure we don't end up in the wrong galaxy, why don't you? I have flight patterns to go monitor,**_" she chuckled. "_**And whatever processor power you don't need to do your job, allot to thinking about Ironhide. I'm sure it'll make you much more pleasant.**_"

Chromia made a show of waving her friend off and returning to work. However, she readily followed Elita's prescription. Most of her spare energy went into picturing what a lovely reunion she could have with her spark mate, and the lovely orn that could follow. The cycle passed quickly (she seemed not to work nearly as hard as she day dreamed) yet slowly (every astrosecond that stood between her and Ironhide was too long). But, Chromia was a particularly strong femme. She braced her struts and pushed through, which made the temporary goodbyes said between her and Elita the next day at the docks of Libertia Maxus more happy than sad.

Once Elita departed for the docks' control center, Chromia headed in the opposite direction. She entered the dome-enclosed colony and searched for a comfortable place to grab a cube of energon while she waited for the ship to Verita Pax – the ship to Ironhide.

The port city was crawling with life – and not just Cybertronian. The blue femme was surprised to see so many mechs accompanied by human companions, mostly being carried and not trusted to follow safely behind. Only after Chromia was starting to think humans might better be classified as some sort of multiplying virus – it seemed that at least a third of the mechs here had one or more of the organics pressed against them like alien growths – did she remember that, as a port city, many of the crafts returning from Earth stopped here. Of course the percentage of humans one would see in the city would be enhanced.

Luckily Chromia did not have to walk very far to find a suitable establishment to meet her needs.

_Downshift's_, as the storefront supplied, was a nicely sized energon eatery. There were a dozen three-to-four mech tables inside, and another half dozen one-to-two mech tables, not to mention a decent bar that might have seated seven average-sized mechs. Currently, eighteen mechs and femmes sat about in various groupings; nineteen including Chromia. Six of those customers were femmes – seven should the newcomer be counted – and Chromia was once more startled at the proportion. Again, much of the surprise alleviated when she recalled that Elita had several other ships scheduled to break here, and therefore more femmes than usual would be present.

Chromia checked her internal clock, calculating that she had about nine breems before she had to be at her boarding dock. It was more than enough for a relaxing cube or two of energon… maybe one of those could even be high grade.

She was very quick about getting her first, regular grade cube, and finding a seat by herself near a table of four lively Cybertronians – two femmes and two mechs. Chromia recognized one of the femmes: deep orange with white optics, Burnout had worked alongside Chromia in vorns past as one of many Neutrals who had occasionally assisted the Autobots. The femme was so involved in her conversation, however, that Chromia doubted she'd been noticed. So, the blue femme settled herself quietly and prepared to eavesdrop.

Three breems passed by in a flash while the table's occupants discussed a multitude of things in brief, ranging from the current politics to interfacing to the state of the colonies. Only one conversational strain piqued the eavesdropper's full attention, and that was Burnout's retelling of one of her friend's recent visits to Verita Pax.

"_**You know how I said some time back that Neon was probably going to travel the colonies? Well, he started his sojourn, alright! You'd fry your processors with all the stuff he's managed to learn in that time! He ran into one of the famed Autobot twins at New Praxus, who said humans are **_**not **_**as harmless as they seem. Did you know some mechs even train the things as guards? **_

"_**Not to mention all the personal gossip! He actually ran into a few acquaintances of Thundercracker. Apparently he and Skywarp had a bit of a falling-out for a while there, because you'll remember he was so much more willing to adjust than his comrade – well, ex-comrade, I suppose; I still have trouble with that,**_" she corrected herself. "_**I guess old Skywarp eventually warmed up to the idea, but only after a lot of convincing (if you catch my drift).**_

"_**And on that note, you'll never believe what he found out in Verita Pax!**_"

Her voice was so conspiratorial and quietly alarmed that the others at her table immediately demanded to know what had been found out.

"_**So he was in Verita Pax, okay? Accidentally gets himself injured while checking out the expansion zone, okay? Well, he couldn't pick much of a better place to get injured, because the ex-Autobot Chief Medical Officer settled there – you remember Ratchet? Not sure why he picked there over Iacon or something, but – anyways – so Neon gets himself to Ratchet. Now, Ratchet is stationed in the Bots' old, high class warship – the Ark… no clue what it's doing there, but that's beside the point. You know who else is staying there with him, right?**_"

The other femme and one of the mechs did not know, and said as much. The other mech hesitantly offered, "_**It's Ironhide, isn't it? Their weapons specialist?**_" Chromia noted the use of the word 'their,' making her suspect the others were once Neutrals as well. She smiled into her energon at the mention of Ironhide, who most definitely was living alongside Ratchet.

Burnout didn't speak for a second, and Chromia could only guess that she was nodding. "_**You bet he does. Everyone knows who his spark mate is, right? They were almost as famous as Elita and Prime, weren't they?**_" Chromia smirked. Mechs were still talking about them as a pair! It made her want to get back to her mech even more. "_**Neon was telling some mechs about this – I heard this from them – but apparently, while Chromia's out and about, he's gone and gotten himself some other femme!**_"

Chromia physically felt a couple of her gears stall. "_**Ironhide has a **_**what?**" she demanded hotly and loudly, spinning around to the table. All her happy thoughts were suddenly gone, her intentions of going up to get a cube of high grade forgotten.

Burnout jumped at the unexpected address. She spun about, optics widening. "**Chromia! **_**I had no idea you were there! When did you get here?**_" exclaimed the femme nervously, caught completely unaware.

"_**It doesn't matter. What was that you just said about Ironhide? Finish the story,**_" she growled, clutching her cube tighter.

Hesitantly, Burnout glanced at her friends. Then she repeated, "_**According to Neon, he's got some femme living with him, and he's enamored with her.**_"

Chromia felt her temper flare with righteous indignation. How dare her spark mate even _consider_? "_**Who? What's her name? You said you didn't get it directly from Neon – who did you hear this from?**_" the femme asked in disbelief, anger dipping into her voice.

The other mechs shared glances. "_**I don't know their names,**_" Burnout admitted. "_**Some mechs were talking about it – Neon had talked to them – and I overheard them. Apparently, they've been together a few orns now, and Ironhide absolutely adores her; I heard the phrase 'wrapped around her finger.'**_" Burnout adopted a genuinely apologetic expression. "_**I'm so sorry, Chromia – it's just what I heard. I wouldn't have brought it up if I'd known you were sitting right there.**_"

Chromia blinked in resentment. Ironhide was only allowed to adore _her_. Only _she_ could have him wrapped around her finger!

… Oh, he was _so_ getting blasted when she saw him! To think she'd spent the last cycle thinking almost exclusively about him!

Growling at the indignity of it all, Chromia downed the last of her energon and stalked over to the bar to return her cube and pay her credits. The owner seemed to pick up on her suddenly foul mood and made the transaction as quickly and silently as possible.

Between the store, the shuttle, and the colony of Verita Pax itself, not very many mechs dared speak more than a couple words to her even if it was necessary. She let her thoughts stew the entirety of the trip, and the transwarp and undocking process flitted by accordingly, lost in the importance of her irritation.

…Had anyone, for whatever reason, begun to think that Chromia had lost her tendency toward single-minded passion after the ceasefire, she proved them wrong during the course of a single cycle. Both her longing to see Ironhide – and now her longing to shoot him – were as strong of desires as she'd ever had before, and nothing – not even the perception of time – was about to stand in her way.

She synched with the electronic map of the colony and followed street after street, as if she had made the journey a thousand times before instead of twice or thrice. The moment she spotted the Ark's looming shape in the distance, she growled. Maybe a quarter joor had passed since she boarded the ship, and yet it seemed as though she had just stepped out of _Downshift's_ with the unwanted information.

Just as quickly, she was standing before the main docking doors, glaring at an external camera that automatically swiveled to her. Chromia might have been surprised to find that her access codes still worked, but she was too preoccupied with being angry to notice, instead gliding like a femme possessed into the labyrinthine hallways of the impressive ship.

Several possibilities of where to go came to her in rapid procession. Where was she most likely to find someone? Her first instinct was the practice room for Ironhide, but he wasn't there. Next was the medical ward for Ratchet, but he wasn't there either (more surprising than Ironhide's absence, really). Chromia was left with only one option she thought likely before she started systematically tearing through the ship: the recreation room.

At least Primus still looked well upon her once in a while, because the moment she arrived at the open door, she spotted the resident CMO working on what appeared to be a severed limb.

"_**Ratchet!**_" Chromia pointed energetically. The medic looked up at the unorthodox greeting. His optics widened from the shock of her unannounced visit, and he blinked at her exaggerated motion, but did not respond beyond that. He had no time to. "_**Where is he? Is he here alone?**_"

"…_**In his quarters? And, no, not really; I'm here, and he's probably with Softspark,**_" the mech responded cautiously, as though he feared he would be attacked for a wrong answer. The temperamental femme looked like she was brewing up a storm, and she darkly mumbled 'Softspark.' "_**It's nice to see you, too, Chromia. Is that any way to greet me after so long? Why are you so upset?**_"

But, Chromia was already stomping off, muttering about 'unfaithfulness' and 'teaching him to shop femmes.' Ratchet could only blink again, completely confused.

The deep blue femme angrily marched to her mate's quarters, planning just what she would do when she got there. If they were doing anything more than 'friendly' – frag, if they were doing anything _friendly_! – she was going to slag the both of them. No other femme had the right to be in his quarters with him, especially if she hadn't given permission beforehand!

When at last Chromia stood before the door to Ironhide's quarters, she stopped herself from simply barging in. No – she was going to emphasize just how irate she was, and confront him in the same irksome way that the news of his new 'play mate' had confronted her.

She rapped her fist against the door with open malice.

There were sounds of shuffling in the room, and, a few seconds later, the door opened. Blocking the rest of the chamber from view was the shape of her big, black-plated spark mate.

Ironhide's optics dilated to a wider setting, clearly shocked to see her. "_**Chromia?**_" he asked for disbelieving confirmation. His optics roamed her frame. "_**Why didn't you tell me you were coming?**_"

Chromia was unimpressed. She merely glared, and folded her arms across her chassis. Instead of responding to his question, she asked, "_**Where's your femme, Ironhide?**_" in a clipped tone.

The black mech blinked in confusion. "_**Who?**_"

"_**I heard she goes by the name of Softspark,**_" she informed pointedly, almost wishing that her look would burn acidic holes into his armor. Was he seriously about to play stupid when he was the only thing standing between her and some lowlife femme who was intruding on their bond?

To her surprise, Ironhide lit up. "_**Oh! Softspark! Chromia, you're gonna love her – stay right there!**_"

And the mech drew back into his quarters.

Chromia stared, stunned by the sheer audacity of her spark mate. So shocked was she that she actually stayed put; she found that she couldn't muster the strength to break from her trance and go yelling into the room like she dearly wished to. How dare he suggest that she'd like _any_ femme he broke the intimacy of their sparkbond with!

The next thing Chromia knew, Ironhide was back in the doorway. She was still blinking in amazement at his face. However, he gave her an expectant look and gestured down towards mid-frame. Still radiating incredulity and antipathy, Chromia shifted her gaze downward.

She was once again thrown for a loop when her optics fell squarely onto a small human held in her mate's cupped hands. At this point, the confusion began to outweigh her anger.

"…_**What's this?**_"

Looking somewhat hesitant now, Ironhide said, "_**It's my human. This is Softspark. …Don't you like her?**_"

Chromia paused. _This _was Softspark? The small human was staring at her with big eyes, fidgeting within the large hands that held her. So she had the name wrong. Brushing it aside, Chromia looked upwards again to meet Ironhide's optics. "_**Very nice, 'Hide. Now where's the **_**femme**_** I've heard you've been moonlighting with?**_"

The mech pulled his head back as if slapped. "_**Moonlighting? Who says I've been moonlighting with another femme? I'm sparkmated to you, for Primus's sake! Is that why you were glaring at me? You thought I had some femme stashed away in here?**_"

"_**Mechs have been talking about it, so don't try and play this off,**_" she warned. "_**They said you've been sharing quarters with her for orns, and that you're enamored with her. Now where is she, and who gave you the right?**_"

Ironhide was not quick to respond. He blinked several times, glanced down at the human he held, and then gave Chromia an awkward look. "_**… I think your friends overheard incorrectly,**_" he stated almost dully, all the while with wary optics. "_**The only 'femme' I've been sharing my quarters with is Softspark here, and I've been doing it since I took her in from Prowl… about five orns ago. And I **_**am**_** enamored with her,**_" he said at length. "_**It's hard not to be.**_"

Cautious to trust, Chromia gave him a mixed look. She tentatively felt out their bond, testing for sincerity. When she found that he was not lying, the fight went out of her. Blinking, Chromia looked back down at the little human – little, she realized now that she cared to look at the creature, because the female was a youngling.

"… _**They were talking about a **_**human**_** femme…?**_" she muttered to herself, raising a hand towards the young alien. She couldn't believe that she hadn't invested more trust in her mech. But, then, perhaps the stress of their bond from their time apart had clouded her thinking.

"_**She's the only femme other than you that I really care about,**_" Ironhide assured her. At last, he got a partial smile out of his blue spark mate. "_**Well? What do you think of her?**_"

"_**I think humans are starting to get too involved with us, if mechs are starting to call them femmes in conversations and they can be confused with us… And I think, given that she's **_**not **_**trying to steal your spark away from me, that she might be considered cute,**_" allowed Chromia, giving the young alien an experimental petting. Softspark responded favorably to it, so she continued (much to Ironhide's delight).

Chromia was known for the strength of her emotions, including the speed with which they could change. Precisely as she had snapped from pleasantly anticipatory to furious, she changed to pleasantly content to be beside Ironhide again. As the small organic was pressed into her hands – her mate adorably eager to see her interact with Softspark – she vowed to make the best of the time she had here. If that meant spending time bonding over an abandoned organic youngling, then so be it. It was fine by her.

* * *

Surprises were infrequent in Prowl's life. Even eccentric, generally unpredictable mechs – Jazz and the twins came to mind – did not normally take the strategist by surprise. He could count on them to do unusual things, and therefore, those things became 'usual' by definition.

Quirk was proving an interesting exception to that unwritten rule of thumb. Prowl, for once, did not know what to expect from someone. Within an orn of bringing the human home, it had begun to accept being hand-fed at mealtimes (which Prowl insisted upon to help the organic get used to his presence). Yet, even two orns after the fact, Quirk still refused to approach Prowl on his own without some catalyst like food. At the same time, Quirk normally let him approach without much fuss. Not including, of course, the couple occasions when the Earthling did not recognize the difference between his previous owner and Prowl, and recoiled before realizing he was not in danger.

Today, about two and a half orns after Quirk stepped foot in Prowl's home for good, the human approached him.

One thing Prowl had grown used to with the human was not having to worry about where he was. He showed up diligently for meals, slept regularly (he'd taken his bedding and wedged it between two filing cabinets, creating a snug hideaway for himself), and sometimes wandered the apartment to find new hideouts, avoid Prowl, or use the waste receptacle. On the last point, Prowl had also been a tad surprised; the mech hadn't had hopes that the human would've retained that bit of his training, and yet he had.

That was why Prowl had to pause and stare the cycle that he'd made to leave his desk after completing some primary paperwork for a new case, and discovered Quirk dozing off near his feet.

Initially, the ex-Autobot was happy he hadn't stepped on his pet while standing. That would have been disastrous. Next, he wondered how long the human could have been stationed there. Then, he grew concerned about why he hadn't detected the human's approach, whenever that might have occurred.

The questions went unanswered. Prowl stepped away from his desk, leaving his pet in peace.

… Which was why he was even more concerned when, no more than two breems later, while he was preparing a cube of energon in the cleaning room, the Earthling peeked his head around the doorframe and stared at him.

That alone wasn't so irregular. Prowl had witnessed before this cautious behavior of scouting rooms out before deeming them safe to enter. What he hadn't witnessed was Quirk lingering around after discovering Prowl wasn't stationary in a room; for the first two and a half orns, he generally avoided rooms where his owner wasn't seated or immersed in work.

But today, even after clearly observing that Prowl was standing and casually refueling his systems, Quirk stayed. What's more, he wandered into the room and actually circumnavigated it. Prowl studied the unprecedented behavior with great interest, especially when the yellow-haired male acknowledged him by raising his organic eyes to Prowl's optics. It was as if he was expressing, 'I know you are watching me; I'm watching you, too. I know this place is yours; it's mine, now, too.'

Prowl had never seen the traumatized human act so 'boldly.' He discovered that he was rather pleased with the display. His appreciation prompted him to present Quirk with a treat imported directly from Earth – a trick Bumblebee had suggested when it came to endearing himself to his pets – which Quirk took with minimal hesitation.

After a regular sleep cycle wherein the human snuck himself between the cabinets and did not rouse for a joor and a half, Quirk's first action after going through his waking routine was to again seek Prowl out. Prowl had not entered a nanosecond of recharge during that time, and had instead moved on to conducting several radio-conferences with some of the companies of mechs involved in the colonial expansion. He had returned to his desk, as it were. Unlike the previous cycle, he saw Quirk coming before he arrived.

There was no optic-to-eye contact for most of the organic's trek towards him, though Prowl assumed Quirk must've known he was being watched. The male dragged one of his squares of bedding with him. He waited until he was only a mech's arm's length away before he looked up at his owner and gave a curious bob of his head.

Prowl blinked. He watched the small form drop down in front of the desk drawers. The square of fabric was messily bundled into a makeshift nest, and Quirk wiggled down into it until he was sufficiently comfortable.

Knowing there was work to be done, Prowl drew his focus back to the screens. He managed to key in several more sentences and calculate a couple more figures before the gnawing sensation of being watched demanded his attention. Quirk was looking up at him. The human tilted his head to one side, almost in consideration, when he realized he was finally being watched in return.

Had Prowl not known it to be a futile venture he might have commented on his pet's strange actions. However, he did know it to be a pointless activity – sitting around and speaking to humans as if they would miraculously understand and answer back – and so he kept his thoughts to himself. If the creature could have answered him, the ex-Autobot might have asked why the sudden change in behavior, what it was he had done to suddenly earn the skittish Earthling's trust and/or affection, and a multitude of questions regarding his previous owner.

A foreign sense of fondness touched at the strategist. Prowl wasn't a completely affectionless mech by any means, but he tended to balance his emotions with sensibility and, under no circumstances, let himself get carried away by any 'sensation.' It had been a while now since he'd felt a sort of fondness like this, though, and it caught him by surprise as he sat there looking at the curious little organic.

He was very… glad… that he had come into possession of Quirk.

Incidentally, it was a feeling that compounded over the following cycles, wherein Quirk started making a point of following him around for a portion of each said cycle. When Prowl would go refuel, for example, Quirk started to trace after him. The human would hang around the room, sometimes chattering lowly to himself, and then follow Prowl back out.

It only took a few cycles for it to become semi-routine ('routine' being used loosely, because Quirk varied the times where he found it important to trace after his owner, and sometimes he only did so for a breem, whereas others he'd persist at his little game for joors; sometimes he still kept a relatively safe distance, and others he seemed to seriously contemplate clamoring over one of Prowl's feet). Prowl rather looked forward to discovering what Quirk's interests were from cycle to cycle, as they never ceased to entertain or – at minimal – intrigue.

One incident above all others would be forever ingrained in Prowl's memory.

With a stack of some six datapads that the tactician wanted to review as preparation for an upcoming meeting on the latest developments in his colony's expansion, Prowl had settled down for a long evening of reading. It was always a slow going process, so Prowl had focused his mind astutely on the task at hand and was ready to do nothing else for the rest of the night.

Precisely three and four-fifths of a breem in, there was a cautious tapping at his chair.

Prowl looked down.

Quirk – square of bedding messily stuffed under a forelimb – was watching him while he steadily knocked against the chair. Process of elimination made it clear that the human wanted up. The black and white mech acquiesced, although he doubted whether Quirk would have the resolve to be picked up.

The human surprised him by barely flinching when he was lifted. Then, under Prowl's watchful optics, he set up his fabric, startlingly near to where Prowl was working.

The pair of them regarded one another for a short while. Guessing that hunger must be fueling the prolonged attention, Prowl procured one of the food packets he'd had the foresight to subspace. Quirk took it without a sound. Now, believing his involvement over and given the workload, the mech returned to reading.

A screen and a half later, a gentle substance brushed over the side of Prowl's free hand. A single glance proved the source to be the white cloth of Quirk's bedding, because the human had shifted his whole set up to be right next to the idle limb. After a few squirms and tosses in the fabric, Quirk accidentally managed to press himself against the mech's hand with only a layer of cloth between them. The realization made the male stiffen in obvious hesitation at contact with a mech, but Quirk did not pull away after Prowl left him alone.

Few beings – with only a couple exceptions – would ever dare get that 'familiar' with Prowl. The unintentional sentiment fascinated the mech.

For the rest of the cycle, Prowl had a companion while he read.

The situation was unusual, unprecedented, and would never have been associated with the strategist. Most unusually, Prowl found the company enjoyable. The mundane but necessary task of the readings actually – dare he think it – became… pleasant.

* * *

To have fallen into a job like Beachcomber's, one couldn't get upset over having to be away from home for extended periods of time. Maybe 'home,' even, was a bit strong, depending on one's definition. If 'home' was where the spark was, then Beachcomber had many homes, and the one he split with Bumblebee was just one of them. If 'home' was where one spent most of his time, Beachcomber wasn't certain if it could be said that he had one. Trying to sort the data in his head, he believed that around sixty-five or seventy percent of the time, he was elsewhere. Almost ninety percent of that time, he wasn't even in the colony!

So, Beachcomber – as would be expected – was normally fine moving about unhindered by anything greater than duty. He liked Bumblebee and all, but he'd never exactly been spark-broken about having to leave for extended periods of time, because he knew his friend wasn't going to change on him during an absence. Bee was Bee, and had been for many vorns now. In short, 'Comber wasn't missing anything when he wasn't there.

Signal and Complement had kind of changed his stance on that.

Beachcomber was, currently, at 'home.' The latter of the humans was trying to wrestle a wire out of his hands while the former was attempting to do the same with Bumblebee. It was an activity that had been going on for about a breem now. Signal tired of the game more quickly than the female did, and no sooner than Beachcomber made the time check, the human male threw his end of the wire to the ground with a growl and dropped onto the floor in defeat.

The mechs watched in rapt attention when Complement turned her head immediately at the sound. She called to him, which in turn drew his attention. They exchanged a bunch of noises and motions, and before long, Signal was on his feet again. He joined his mate at her game – but not before (possessively?) wrapping his arms around her for a moment.

"_**Aw,**_" crooned Bumblebee, resting his head in a hand and leaning forward. "_**That's adorable, isn't it, 'Comber? They comforted one another.**_"

"_**It's one of the best examples I've seen of their social nature,**_" he admitted with an enlightened smile. Gently, he started to let the wire feed through his fingers so the humans would think they were overpowering him. Signal gave another growl at this, which made the mech chuckle. "_**They are by far the most interesting species I think I've ever had the pleasure of knowing.**_"

Bumblebee nodded in whole-sparked agreement. He reached out and pet Complement's still-damp head – they'd had another of their baths less than half a joor ago – and smiled at the way she twisted her head around at the contact, before calming down when she tilted back and saw that it was just him. The petting prompted her to shake her head out. Inadvertently, the ends of her dark hair managed enough reach to strike Signal in the face. She noticed this and immediately adopted a sort of crooning voice of her own (apologetic, perhaps?). The male gave another of his angry-sounding expletives, this time directed at Complement. She regarded him for a second, and then whipped her head around again, as if purposefully trying to hit him with her hair this time.

The pair of mechs watched with amusement, and even more so when Signal futilely mimicked his mate's actions, only to find that his shorter hair was not long enough to achieve the same results.

Bumblebee considered his humans' hair. Both of them had undergone substantial hair lengthening, because apparently the strands of dead cells were constantly elongating. Signal had the more noticeable change, since his had originally not made it to his ears, and now it was past that. In a way, Bee mourned the difference; he'd rather liked the way the two of them looked when he bought them.

It also got him thinking – how had the humans come to have their original hair lengths, anyway? Neither Signal nor Complement had made any attempts at shortening their hair on their own, so Bee doubted humans did it naturally. Or, if they did, they must have used something from their environment that they didn't have at their disposal here (or maybe it was some sort of complex symbiotic relationship with some other Earth animal; Bee wasn't about to rule out anything). Had Dropkick, or one of their initial captors, maybe groomed them to that state? If so, he should be able to return their looks to what they'd been, right? Even more important, would the two humans appreciate the effort, or did they prefer to have their hair growing freely?

He'd have to look into it.

Both humans eventually tired of the game, even though they were being allowed to win. Bee thought it was as good a time as any to give them an appreciative treat, having himself just been treated to another insight into their behavior. He pulled two of the red off-spheres – which he'd gathered were some of his humans' favorite from-home treats – out of his protected subspace pocket and gave them to Signal and Complement. They ate their gifts at a steady, unhurried pace, chattering lowly almost the entire time. Beachcomber, who was not around enough to have grown accustomed to their eating habits, was amused by some of the funny sounds that were created when Signal or Complement attempted to suck excess juices from their energy-filled snacks.

"_**I'm happy you decided to get them,**_" said Beachcomber, breaking out of his bent-over position so that he was sitting up straight.

"_**I'm happy you gave me the idea,**_" Bee returned. He recalled the very conversation during which it had been planted in his processors, and then the lengths he'd gone to ensuring he knew everything he needed to when it came to caring for a human, and checking the apartment to make sure it was safe. Though in reality he hadn't had his pets for all that long compared to, say, how long he'd been living in Verita Pax, he couldn't imagine how he'd spent his days before they lived with him. As far as he was concerned, he didn't ever want to part with them.

Beachcomber tore his optics away from Signal, who had finished his treat and was placing the remains of it delicately on the floor. "_**I saw a few mechs walking their humans the other day when I was coming back. Do you ever take them out with you?**_"

"_**Not without a carrier, no,**_" explained Bee. "_**I sort of wanted to, but I'm nervous about how they'd react to it. Like… I don't want to risk them running off, or getting spooked by something and dashing for cover before I can get to them, or have some mech who's not paying attention get too close and accidentally injure or scare them.**_" He worriedly observed his pets. He wanted to test that with them, he really did, but all the worst case scenarios kept flashing through his relays. Besides… he was worried that even being presented with being outside again would scare them after what they'd been through with Maul and Tiptop.

"_**I don't know, Bee; I think it's worth a try. Human presence is expanding everywhere, so you'd be hard-pressed to find a mech who hadn't learned to watch out for humans by now. And as for them running off… I doubt they'd do that. I'm sure they wouldn't desert you, spooked or not. If anything, they'd probably run **_**to **_**you for protection. They seem quite fond of you.**_" Said humans were both finished and had discarded their scraps. Now, they were looking from mech to mech as if trying to follow the conversation.

"_**Oh, I hope so. I just love the little guys. Don't know what I would do without them,**_" said Bumblebee. To illustrate his point, he scooped the pair of them into his hands and cradled them to his chassis as if he were hugging a turbo-fox.

Beachcomber knew he had to be mistaken, but he could've sworn that Signal and Complement grinned at one another, almost looked like they were laughing, and hugged their owner right back.

* * *

Beige and black feet moved quickly down the hallway, hastened from irritation and urgency. Dark red optics held unrestrained apprehension and anger. The bright ceiling lights helped create overly large shadows, rushing as quickly across the tiles as the feet themselves. The mech turned a corner sharply and flung open the door that sat immediately to the right.

Inside the room, two mechs were already enveloped in a violent conversation. One, mostly silver, was making sweeping and threatening motions towards the other, and his optics kept re-focusing. The other – purple and orange – was much more quiet, though his irritation was equally as plain.

"_**They've been in the system! They've been in the system, I know it! They hacked in, they took our records, they're going to dismantle this trade in due time!**_" 'Silver,' otherwise known as Afterburner, exclaimed. He fastened his burning optics onto the newcomer. Swindle calmly filled his tanks with air and also glanced to the beige-and-black mech. "_**'Drive! You better have good news.**_"

"_**I'm afraid not,**_" Terradrive answered grimly. Afterburner hissed, almost missing the rest of what he had to say. "_**Some of the cryptologists say they think their systems were accessed, and a few of our contacts in Iacon have reason to suspect Prime held a hushed meeting not too long before our suspicions started raising.**_"

"_**Frag it all! That slagging do-gooder has something on us, he must!**_" the enraged ex-Con bit out.

Swindle held a hand out symbolically between the other mechs in the room. "_**Easy there, Afterburner. It's not Terradrive's fault. And, had you not kept any accessible electronic records like I suggested you do when we first started this business, this wouldn't be a problem.**_" The sly profiteer spoke calmly as an example, but it was clear he held a special bit of malice for Afterburner at the moment.

Afterburner was personally affronted. "_**There is nothing directly incriminating in any file I've stored anywhere! And not a single database was 'accessible.' Prime's team must've hacked it. I don't like the slaggers, but the Autobots did not exactly lack in some measure of skill,**_" he seethed. "_**I don't know when they started considering the rumors to be any more than just that, but obviously someone must've tipped them off.**_"

"_**Not necessarily,**_" interjected Terradrive. "_**They're softsparked. If even one mech gave them the idea that we were so much as mistreating their precious humans, they'd want to look into it. Prime isn't so stupid as to incriminate us openly. It would be horrible for public relations.**_" He lit up. "_**Perhaps we should just come forward with news of their infiltration?**_"

Swindle shook his head sharply. "_**No. We say nothing. We have no evidence what their suspected meeting was about, or if it even happened. Rushing to incriminate them incriminates us, and would decrease sales too greatly. Let the Autobot organic-lovers have their fun. If they want to embark on a righteous mission, let them. If we truly left no trace of the organics' sentience, then the only thing they can call us out on is breaking regulations, in which case we'd fall back into their guidelines for as long as it takes to get them off our tailpipes.**__" _Swindle stared off to the side, addressing his current companions without acknowledging them. "_**We don't know for sure what exactly it is that they are after. Since they have no reason to suspect the humans are sentient – as far as I know – I think it safe to assume they'd only be concerned that we aren't treating the humans as well as they think we should during capture and transport. Let's not be hasty.**_"

That was not good enough for Afterburner. His vents released air that had been held for far too long, superhot from cycling near his enraged systems. "_**What if they **_**are**_** investigating sentience? What if they plan on conducting expeditions when, or if, they find more tangible evidence? The entire system of Earth-based trades would be crushed, and where would that leave the energon situation? As bad as it was before we found the planet, that's where!**_"

"_**That's true,**_" conceded Swindle, finally looking back at them. Terradrive was contemplative, Afterburner still fuming. His anger, however, was starting to falter enough to reveal the genuine worry for his reputation and well-being at the root. The purple-and-orange mech drummed his fingers against an armor plate on his inner arm. He blinked. "_**Fine. We keep track of their higher ups. At this point, I think our best bet is to minimize their proximity to any specimens. Have our people keep their optics trained and servos at the ready to intervene.**_" Yes, that should work, Swindle thought. It could be low key and very subtle, and could still prove effective. Keep the Prime and his closest tactical subordinates – Prowl, Red Alert, Jazz, and the like – under the best surveillance they could quickly pull together.

For a moment the other two were contented. Then Terradrive glanced to both sides, as if looking for an explanation. Swindle tiredly inquired what his problem was.

"_**What if they own humans of their own? I know some of them do. That is a huge security risk, especially if they start looking for the proper signs. We can't minimize their interactions with their own pets.**_"

"_**Oh yes we can,**_" said Swindle. He grinned broadly. "_**It's awfully hard to interact with something that's no longer there.**_" It took a few astroseconds before the idea sank in, leaving all three mechs grinning in a unique way. "_**'Burner, get in contact with Leadfoot. He was always skilled at breaking and entering. He'd be the perfect mech for the job.**_"

* * *

The four mechs seated at the table exchanged contemplative glances with one another. Optimus sat at the debatable head of the table (it was circular, so whether or not there was a 'head' was open for discussion), the three others distributed equally around the silver perimeter. A red mech with blue optics sat to his right, a dusty-brown mech with nearly-white optics directly in front of him, and a black and red mech with complementing red optics to his left.

"**_Does that sound reasonable?_**" asked Prime, having just proposed what he considered a workable compromise between the three mechs.

Prompting the assortment of characters before him to assemble was a complication with the expansion of a mineral field on one of the small, colonial planets near to Cybertron, more commonly known as Icor. The planet was rarely known for anything other than its mineral fields and ore rich sediments, although some of the hardier, more adventurous mechs chose to live there during the late stages of the war and Cybertron's reconstruction.

Tracer – the only former-Decepticon in the group – was the first to nod; he represented the field initially meant to be expanded. His gaze shifted from Prime, to Heavy Tread, to Strafe, and finally settled back on Prime. "**_Yes, it sounds quite reasonable._**"

Heavy Tread, the dusty-brown mech, slowly nodded; he represented an adjacent ore harvesting facility, and had not wanted Tracer's land extending any closer to his so that his own future expansions were still available. "_**I suppose, yes. I could try to argue, but I know it would be pointless. That's probably the fairest solution.**_"

"**_I agree,_**" relented the red-painted Strafe with an acquiescing nod; he represented Icoran Civilian Affairs, which had grown quite wary at the news of the fields' desires to expand, potentially encroaching onto their sparse lands in the process. Fearing for their own property, the institution had immediately sent representation to speak for their interests in the inevitable negotiations. "_**I**__****__t _helps my mechs to move further away from the fields, and lets both of their businesses expand healthily. For now, the logistics seem to fit."

Optimus gave a pleased nod of his head. "**_Very well. I'm glad an understanding could be reached in such a timely manner. The freedoms of our citizenry are important, but so is the supply of material to our builders at a time like this._**" He smiled pleasantly, though formally, at the three mechs. "**_I'd like to thank you all for being so reasonable about this. It is seldom the case._**"

Shrugging slightly, Tracer offered, "**_There's no point growing irrational over something like this. Things – now more than ever – must be done with the good of our civilization in mind, not the petty desires of the individual._**"

With another nod, Prime complimented, "_**Well spoken.**_"

"_**Tracer is right. Now is not the time for petty quarrels that are so easily resolved,**_" Strafe reciprocated. "**_I_**_** think I speak for everyone when I express my gratitude for you taking time out of your schedule to oversee this. Thanks to you, my Prime, I think we can mostly handle these affairs from here on out on our own.**_"

Part of the way through the appreciative address, Optimus's radio signal received an urgent ping. He waited until Strafe was done before responding, "_**It's been no problem at all. However, I'm getting a rather important transmission right now from a friend of mine. If it's not too much trouble, might I excuse myself? As you said, it seems as though you can take care of things from here.**_"

The three appeased Cybertronians all replied with some rendition of "**_Of course._**"

Saying a final farewell and thank you, Optimus stood and left the room. He sent a return signal to his addresser – Jazz, naturally – apologizing for the delay and explaining that he was heading for the privacy of his office. The spy transmitted his understanding through the partially opened channel.

The second Optimus closed the door to his office behind him, he fully accessed the radio connection. / _**Jazz, thank you for waiting for me. My attention now belongs entirely to you. **_/ He sat down at his desk, giving the stack of datapads that waited for him there a sidelong glance of mixed emotion.

/ _**It's all fine, Boss-mech. Well… no, it's not fine, **_/ Jazz greeted, first lax, but then growing quite serious.

Debating grabbing a spare pad to record any upcoming information on, Optimus ultimately decided his memory would serve well enough. / _**What news do you have? It's been such a short time since you set out on this mission. **_/

/ _**Yeah, well, it didn't take long, **_/ the absent mech confirmed with an uncharacteristic lackluster transmission tone. / _**There are at least four different big violations in action that we've found already, and we have a feeling there're more that we'll be able to discover if we keep at it.**_ / He left a pause for the Cybertronian leader to make a reply in, but Optimus was not sure how he wanted to respond to that revelation. / _**The most important is the condition of subject capture, or so we think. All signs indicate that there are mechs actually hunting their specimens down, not passively trapping them or anything like the rules stipulate. That's sure to cause trauma to the humans, even more so if they're using the tools we think they're using.**_

/ _**The injuries are another thing. You know how our guys got those limitations set down on what sort of materials could be used in the treatment of organic injuries? **_/

/ _**Absolutely, **_/ Prime said, recalling the law well. It minimized the concentrations of any chemicals allowed in the maintenance of organics.

/_** They're using more than that, and the humans are getting hurt more than they should. The main one they use completely knocks the critters out for a pretty good stretch of time, and that can't be healthy for 'em. Firewall also thinks dangerous electro-magnetic methods are being implemented in some trade branches. **_/

Optimus contained a spark-felt sigh. Those measures could only be shortcuts attempted to increase profits. Profiting at the expense of another living being… / _**And the other violations?**_ /

/ _**Not as egregious, I suppose. One has to do with proper representation to the customers – a normal trade violation – and the other is the lack of file keeping, which is in blatant disregard to the orders about keeping a clean, easy-to-follow trail. Naturally, it was the first broken restriction we found. **_/

/ _**Naturally, **_/ repeated the Prime.

He could practically hear the shrug Jazz gave on the other side of the connection. / _**They were pretty good at falsifying and minimizing their paper trail **_**and**_** their file trail. I have to give them credit for that. **_/

/ _**You've performed exceptionally, Jazz, as always – all of you. I cannot thank you enough for the work you've done, **_/ Prime said heavily. He could not be surprised at the confirmation of his suspicions, but he was – partially – surprised at the efficiency and speed with which Jazz carried the operation out. Then again… perhaps that, too, should not have been at all surprising.

/ _**I'm top notch, Boss-bot, you know that. But, Optimus… Crosswise and I aren't so certain that those trade violations are where it ends. **_/

Optimus straightened in his seat. / _**I had my suspicions about that as well. History has shown time over that where one step is taken out of bounds, another is sure to follow. What is it you're suspicious of?**_ /

/ _**We've got reason to believe the corruption traces all the way back to Earth, outside the human trade. There were some crazily encoded, encrypted messages from Earth-bound mechs. Some passed only briefly through the processing systems we were after, so they were probably involved in sister trades – like the energy harvesting going on there,**_ / said Jazz with some bit of disgust. /_** We got a hunch they aren't respecting the interplanetary conduct laws there, or preservation regulations. Which makes sense. Their high numbers are probably that way because they're dodging restrictions. **_/

Prime had also had his concerns regarding those figures since the restrictions were put in place with only minimal effect on those businesses' statistics.

/ _**It would not come as a shock, **_/ he admitted grimly. As far as he was concerned, there was only one way to handle that. / _**I will welcome your return to Iacon for a full exploration of the violations you and your team have recorded. Then, we will discuss your position on investigating those hunches of yours. Drawing these violations into public awareness should give the trades anough to worry about to provide you with decent cover for whatever venture you have in mind next.**_ /

The Prime felt Jazz's long-distance smile. /_** Definitely. I already got a few plans to move forward on of my own. 'Sides – I always wanted to pay a visit to the planet that's been causing such a commotion. **_/

* * *

**A.N.**

There you have it. This chapter seems incredibly short to me, even though word-count wise I know it can't be that much shorter... Maybe it's an illusion, based on the format I chose (more sections, each one more of a snippet than anything)?

Hey! It's time for another round of 'guess who gets to have an appearance next?' I'll give you a heads up: there is more than one name to be guessed (making up – in a way – for forgetting to play that game with the femmes).

I hope you picked up on the theme of 'expansion.' And I also hope you caught one very intentional line that Tracer spoke, which complicates the position of most (ex-)Decepticons even more when it comes to how Earth is being used/what's going on there…

And remember - I love reviews, and I love the reviewers who send them! They always make my day, and often guilt me into forcibly creating more time for writing fanfic (so long as they are understanding in their guilt trip). And seriously. If you find a typo, I'd appreciate the alert so that I might correct it.


	13. Closing In

**Title: **Property Of

**Rating: **T (a little 'strong' language in a couple places)

**Summary:** During Cybertronian 'peace,' ex-Cons hide the sentience of and sell humans as pets to secure Earth. Sam and Mikaela might just be the first to grasp the reality of the situation alongside their new owner.

**Chapter: **Closing In

Heads up – there is a bit more 'strong language' in here than usual (which isn't saying much). It's really not bad, but I just wanted to let you know ahead of time, just in case.

In contrast to the last couple chapters, this installment has only a few different storylines supporting it. Hope you guys still like it, even though some of you have expressed an appreciation for the multi-storyline approach I've been adopting lately. Over the next couple chapters, most all storylines will begin to intersect. Have fun with that!

A shout-out to **Lady Shadowfire**. Reading her review sparked a really short scene interjected between the two larger, more important storylines here. Though I warn you now, it probably won't be followed up on; it's just another related piece of the puzzle, you could say.

* * *

_Time lapse: approximately 1 (one) orn since Swindle's meeting; approximately .5 (one half) orns since Jazz, Crosswise, and Firewall left Cybertron to investigate the real status of the trades on Earth_

* * *

Something had gone wrong with the weapons installations in the expansion zone. Although a decent stretch of time had elapsed since the initial plans were made for the weapons systems, someone was just now opposing the proposal, which threatened to put them behind schedule for a long time. Too long of a time.

Prowl moved stiffly throughout his apartment, gathering datapad after schematic after datapad. A complaint had been raised not a joor earlier, and the mech in question was still in the construction zone; Prowl had been called to come attempt reasoning with him. Now, everything the tactician thought might be useful in persuading the other mech to see the illogical position he was taking, he gathered up to bring with him. He was _not_ about to lose this debate.

In his organized haste, he roused the attention of Quirk. The human poked out from his usual resting place and watched as Prowl went back and forth gathering his belongings. The human seemed to know to stay well out of the way of the harried mech.

Briefly, Prowl reviewed the approach he was going to use. He laid out a simple plan to follow in argumentation; he tried, best he could, to predict areas of counterargument, and re-enhance those points; he made sure the stance was open – but not too open – to compromise.

In the meantime he ignored the set of eyes watching him curiously.

When Prowl departed not a breem later, he could not have known that his pet gave his retreating form a comical eye roll and dismissive wave of the hand before returning to his slumber.

* * *

The beeping, opening, and shutting of the door was enough to shake Miles from his dreams. Well… would-be dreams, the teen supposed; he hadn't really been sleeping, only dozing and imagining things since B-'n-W had left the house with a pile of objects. He tossed and turned for a moment to fight off the disturbance. Heavy mech steps proceeded throughout the house, followed by meticulously ticking computer keys.

Black-and-White was home.

"Workaholic," Miles groused to himself, although he knew that shifting his focus to the sounds wasn't a total loss. After all, he hadn't been sleeping anyway.

The tick-tick-ticking continued very interruptedly for a long time. That was unusual. Miles had been with B-'n-W for a while now – maybe a month, maybe a month and a half – and a fair chunk of that time had been spent generally avoiding direct contact with the mech, allowing him the time to gauge just how sincere his new owner was. That wasn't to say Miles hadn't been trying since day one, because he had (as was his initial plan once he parted with Sam and Mikaela the second time). If he hadn't pushed himself, he'd probably still be avoiding B-'n-W.

As it was, Miles had recently come to the conclusion that he liked this mech. Against all odds, Sam had been right. With the right mech, things weren't actually that bad. B-'n-W never pushed nor crowded him, provided the essentials and then some, and was overall very respectful.

And a workaholic.

Miles quickly discovered that about his new owner. The black and white mech was always working, be it at the computer station or doing readings or using those electronic tablet-pad things. Had he any money, Miles would've bet it on the assumption that nine times out of ten, B-'n-W only left the house when business called for it. Frankly, it was the opposite of anything Miles had ever been, and the teen found it amusing that he of all people should come to live with such a mech.

Not that Miles was complaining! B-'n-W working all the time meant Miles was free to warm up to him precisely as he pleased. Early on, it meant being able to explore without fear of being noticed or facing retribution. He'd never made Miles guess about what should be expected from him. He was… he was predictable – that was the word.

Miles thanked God for predictable mechs almost as much as he would've thanked God if there were no mechs at all.

The 'unpredictable' typing behavior, however, continued. Stranger still was the tone of the occasional spoken alien word. On the latter, Miles had heard B-'n-W speak only rarely. He hadn't been directly addressed since the mech had first caught him (and Miles didn't like to think about that time very much), but the mech sometimes spoke – he assumed – to others using a sort of walkie-talkie system Sam had presented a theory on. That, or the mech was secretly a little unhinged. Either way, Miles had heard him speak at least a handful of times, and none of the times had it sounded like this. B-'n-W was always measured in his speech, with minimal tonal variation – Mile could picture Sam right now making fun of him for never paying attention, but see? He paid attention quite well! – and a funny lack of urgency as far as the human could tell. This speech was all over the place.

There was no more denying it. Miles's curiosity was officially, extremely triggered. He couldn't hide from it anymore.

The teen kicked his 'sheets' aside and wiggled out from between the large cabinets. He came to a stand-still only half way out when he spotted the mech at the computer station.

A black, orange, and brown mech.

A most-definitely-not-black-and-white mech.

"Who the hell…?" Miles muttered under his breath. Apparently not quietly enough, though, because the mech swiveled his head sharply to Miles at the mutter. It was so fast a motion that Miles physically jumped at it. Afterwards, he felt this stomach drop a little.

The stranger's optics were a bright, frighteningly familiar red.

Slowly, the intruder moved away from the desk and the computers – which Miles could see he was in the process of using, probably against B-'n-W's will – and advanced on him. Miles dove immediately back for cover, but mere seconds later, the two cabinets were shoved aside and the crevice of light was shadowed by the mech looming over him.

Miles screamed for help when the mech descended, grabbing him firmly in one hand. His old practice of struggling came back, although a horrible pinching in his arm made him stop quickly enough. His right arm was currently pinned at such an angle that Miles was afraid it might break if he continued.

His captor stood then, and roughly pushed the cabinets back into place. Miles whimpered once in pain from the pinned arm, but the mech didn't like that and squeezed slightly. The blonde inhaled sharply and bit his tongue to prevent making another sound in spite of the pain. Thankfully he was transferred to the other hand soon enough and was allowed to reposition his arm; the transfer came with a tighter hold, to which Miles coughed out quietly, "You damn _reds!_"

Miles had to endure watching the mech continue to ravage B-'n-W's hard drive.

When the mech was through, he shut things up quickly. He practically slammed the keypad holder closed, and in his haste to leave, bumped the desk and knocked a couple things on the desk top around.

Seconds only passed between that and the mech leaving the home entirely.

Miles tried to put up another struggle once they'd gotten into the hall – surely someone would notice that, right? – but the strange mech squeezed threateningly. Miles hacked at the pressure on his lungs and had to cease again. He considered screaming for attention, but he could barely breathe let alone speak or scream.

Eventually, they were outside. They were traversing the streets, and Miles hadn't the faintest idea for what purpose, or what was going on at all. Everything had happened so fast, so unexpectedly.

_I'm gonna die, I'm really gonna die, they're finally gonna kill me. Oh shit, he better not be one of Indy's friends… What if he's trying to get me back? I can't go back to him! I can't do it! B-'n-W, man, where the hell are you? I need you! Freaking anyone, someone help me!_

Unable to voice these thoughts, and many others like them, it was all Miles could do to hold back angry, defeated tears and shudders.

* * *

The meeting had been a complete success.

Prowl had come in, taken order – as he was apt to do – and laid everything out in as simple of terms as he could manage. The mech who'd raised the complaint, some ex-Neutral with the designation Concealer, had put up a feeble argument. He had been concerned that the fortification was excessive, and could only prompt the use of the weaponry. Surely, he'd said, less would be more. "_**What need have we now for such weapons?**_" had been a direct quote.

And, at his request, Prowl had explained exactly what need they still had. Cybertronians had had issues historically with other species, and with even simpler concerns regarding stray asteroids and the like. In addition, what if another stage of the war did develop? Or just a rogue band of mechs in general? What if the energon situation got out of hand, and mechs succumbed to the crisis in a wild way? The weapons and defenses would be Primus-sent then.

In the end, they had agreed to a slight downgrade in fortification – about a ten percent reduction of the initially proposed quantity and firepower – and Prowl considered that a clear victory.

With that out of the way he was now free to go home and continue his usual schedule.

First things first. When Prowl entered his apartment, he deposited his collection of materials onto the center table, separating them for easier re-storage later. Next, he had to see to the taxation of his processors, mixing a concentrated cube of energon that he hoped would be enough to boost his systems back to maximum efficiency. After he was sufficiently refueled, he put all the materials he'd gathered back in their rightful, organized places.

Finally, once everything was in order, he returned to his desk. Now was the perfect time to log the results of the discussions he'd just returned from.

Prowl reached to key in the first of his access codes when something unpleasant caught his optic. The top two datapads in a stack of four that was sitting at the right corner of the desktop were knocked out of line with the two below them.

Prowl's optics narrowed in consternation. His logical cores began streaming input from his memory core, and then he began to scrutinize the few items that sat on his desktop and the monitors.

First the out-of-line datapads; now that he cared to notice, the scroll spike on his main computer screen was resting towards a screen corner and not centered; the keypad drawer, which had not been completely closed when he left, now was; one of the few hologram projectors he had (turned off) was angled to face a slightly different side than he normally kept it.

The ex-Autobot second in command stared sharply at the central monitor.

Someone had been in his home – he was sure of it. He wasn't paranoid like Red Alert, but he knew full well that he would never have left his possessions in such a relative state of disarray. Not to mention, it wasn't as though Quirk was capable of scaling the desk to tamper with things. No. What may have seemed too subtle for others to notice was entirely too obvious to Prowl: someone had entered his home and tampered with his desk – therefore, it was likely, his computers – while he was out.

This was not what Prowl needed right now.

Not dropping his stoicism despite having no one else around, Prowl stood and began a methodical scan of his living areas. First the easiest rooms – the cleaning room, his personal quarters, so on and so forth. The main areas, like the living room and his office, were saved for last. Since they had more in them that he considered desirable in a theft, he was particularly meticulous in going over these.

Nothing seemed to be physically missing, although his filing cabinets did appear to have been disrupted. However, now came the more important task of running through his computer system's hard drives to try and detect hacking and file accesses that were more than likely to be well hidden.

It was right as Prowl was about to sit down and begin this next stage of damage assessment when his processors practically smacked him with an unsavory thought.

There was, indeed, something he'd failed to come across as he searched his home.

Where was Quirk?

The revelation hit the strategist with an almost painful force.

He had been throughout the entirety of the abode, looking everything over in critical detail, and he had not seen the human once. Not wandering around, not investigating what Prowl was up to, not… anything.

Abandoning his desk a second time, Prowl retraced his steps. This time he went first to all of Quirk's most usual resting places (because, really, perhaps the human was just sleeping tucked away somewhere, so that was why he hadn't been spotted).

Yet the human still did not make an appearance.

Prowl checked between each cabinet and under every item that had enough space below to have permitted the human entrance, but Quirk was nowhere to be found. His usual nesting blankets were still in their regular locations, but Quirk was not.

Quirk was… gone.

Prowl straightened uneasily. In place, he rotated slightly, giving the house a final scan from regular optic level. For the first time, he called for his pet, issuing a summoning whistle directly afterwards. He wasn't sure why. He knew that even if Quirk had been there, he wouldn't have known to respond to the summons.

"_**Why? Why would someone break in and take a human?**_" he muttered to himself, processors spinning for an answer as he returned to his computers in a distasteful daze. He had the powerful urge to sit there and do nothing – to sulk, which was a practice Prowl did not partake in. _I failed my human_, he thought somewhat bitterly. He'd taken Quirk in to prevent anything bad from happening to him again, and he had failed at that simple goal. What was even worse was that it wasn't as though contacting the local authorities would help. He _was_ an authority, arguably the highest ranking in Verita Pax.

But now wasn't the time to start developing emotional tendencies! Prowl narrowed his optics again and stared his computer monitors down. Now was the time to find out what the intruder had been after. Maybe if he discovered what his computers had been used to access, he would get an answer as to why Quirk had been stolen, and where he might begin to go about getting him back.

And Prowl _would_ get him back.

* * *

Miles didn't know how long he'd been in the mech's possession. It seemed like hours now, but he doubted it could've really been that long. First, he'd been dragged along to someone else's house where his captor spoke with another mech for some time. They'd taken to the streets again after that, and Miles was no more or less aware of what was in store for him.

They walked for a long time that second venture outside. There were no more breaks, no more visits in houses. Miles's carrier did stop once and held a brief conversation with someone on a corner, but that was it. It was almost as though the mech was lost.

The teen got the distinct impression (after a while) that they were walking towards less and less populated places. Miles bitterly likened it to an old mafia movie, where enemies of the family would be taken to someplace quiet and snuffed out. Surely a human didn't warrant such special attention?

Suddenly, a loud voice ripped through the air. Miles could feel the mech holding him jerk at the sound. Shortly after, the mech began sprinting.

_Am I in a police chase or something?_ thought Miles, trying not to protest the added grip. His question was somewhat answered when a volley of what sounded like gunfire met his ears, and the mech holding him began to pull some crazy moves that Miles was sure his body would hate him for later.

How much more eventful could his day possibly get? The teen was afraid to find out.

The jostling and jumping and twisting had Miles trying to grasp for a handle, seeking protection from the very mech who was stealing him. He was definitely going to have bruises. Then his ride came to a sudden stop at some screechy, clicking noises. When the thief of a mech started to make the same sounds (Miles assumed the mechs were exchanging insults), the blonde tried to find out if he could see anything between the cracks in the alien's fingers. After some repositioning, the human found that he could.

Miles stared at a pair of mechs that stood a comfortable distance away. One was mostly red, the other a mix of whites and blues and some grays, with the latter the clear larger of the two. Both were either equal to or larger in size than the mech holding him. The fairly impressive fire arms that both yielded – aimed straight at him and his captor – made the teen's eyes widen. His stomach sank, uttering a little, subconscious 'oh fuck' as it did so.

The red mech shook his cannon-looking weapon; Miles couldn't help but try and back up into the hand for safety at the realization – this was a freaking street fight! The other mech bent his knees defensively, raising his weapon as well.

He was so about to get shot!

Miles found himself clutched tightly. After a whoosh of air and a delayed, softened sort of whistle, Miles realized that the mech who held him had drawn a weapon and fired at the two other aliens.

This prompted his two opponents to take fire.

Miles cried out in shock and fright as the metal body around him started making sudden flips and rolls and shifts, and the sound of weapon fire being exchanged grew more frantic. Whenever Miles tried to get a look at anything other than his captor, he found it futile and dizzying. The rest of the world was a blur due to the rapid motions and frenzy of the mech holding him.

Then, there was a funny slamming sound, and the entire form around Miles jolted. The same happened two times more, and then Miles saw his world begin to fall.

His captor had lost the shooting match.

Miles groaned as the mech collided with the ground. The robot did not move again, even as Miles nursed his left arm and leg, which had banged against the hard metallic frame during the crash landing. The hand that had been holding him firmly against the giant's body went limp shortly after, and Miles slid down the still palm and right to the ground with another thud and banging of limbs.

"Oh, for the love of monkeys," he groaned.

That's when it hit Miles that it might be a very, very bad thing that his captor had been shot down. Sure, he had felt a spike of happiness that the clearly bad 'bot that had taken him was being attacked, but it suddenly dawned on him as he looked over the motionless alien…

… that these two guys were probably a lot worse.

Really, who double teamed a guy and shot him _three_ times, two times definitely way after the first shot had been a hit?

As Miles climbed to his feet, he saw that both new mechs had moved in. The closest was the red one, and he was only twenty feet away, give or take. However, at his movement, both red and bluish-white slowed in their inspection of their kill. Miles froze, focus shooting from mech to mech.

They had blue optics. They had blue optics. _They had blue optics._

Blue optics were supposed to be good, weren't they? These guys couldn't be all bad, could they? Miles tried to rationalize it, shoving down every instinct that told him to run far, far away, and fast.

He frowned.

If blue was supposed to be good, then why did the red mech look like he wanted to kill him?

Miles simply couldn't take any more of this shit in one day.

* * *

Red and blue-white mechs both had to pause when they spotted motion coming from alongside their downed suspect. Wearing gray-green fabrics and obviously making to get off its four limbs onto only two, it was impossible to mistake the organic as anything other than a human.

Sideswipe could only blink as the animal stood up, an irritated expression donning his faceplates. "_**Fragger has a human. What do we do with it?**_" he asked. The mech stepped around the frame of the felled mech, keeping an optic on the strange, unexpected human. In turn, the human did its best to keep him in its sight.

The ex-warrior suddenly had the urge to kill the creature that had the gall to stare at him as though it wanted to attack.

"_**Maybe it's a trained guard-human,**_" continued the red ex-Autobot distastefully while Magnus approached a few more steps. He had lowered his weapon, but now he raised it again, training it on the audacious fleshling. The human flinched. "_**Can I take it out? Please?**_" He itched to shoot it.

Magnus, on the other hand, stayed his stun weapon. He studied the animal, weighing the risks and benefits involved. "_**No, don't kill him. I'll take care of that.**_"

Sideswipe watched Ultra Magnus step forward for the human. When Magnus crouched and reached his hand out, the human didn't run, but pulled back into a crouch of its own. The stance amused Sideswipe somewhat, as it reminded him of how he and his brother sometimes used to look before and during battles.

"_**Be good now,**_" calmed Magnus, who held his hand still for a moment. "_**Either of us would be better for you than he was, I'm sure.**_"

The human seemed to be entranced as the hand drew steadily nearer. Ultra Magnus carefully hooked two of his fingers over the human's shoulders and around its back. The human had been oddly cooperative up until that point, where he started to struggle. Magnus pressed his thumb into the thing's chest, pinning him. He then lifted the human up, stood, and deposited it in his other hand.

Sideswipe stared. The struggles ceased once the organic was given the increased freedom of Magnus's palm.

"_**There we go. Threat neutralized, Sideswipe. No need to be so trigger-happy. He's just a startled little thing is all; I wouldn't blame him,**_" Ultra Magnus said. He toyed gently with the organic in his hand, though he quickly tired of that and let the creature alone. Magnus gestured at the ex-Decepticon. "_**A detention center can hold **_**him,**_** but where should we take the human? It's not as if he can be incarcerated alongside his owner.**_"

"…_**Back to a store?**_" suggested Sideswipe. The twin moved closer in order to get a better look. The human eyed him warily.

Magnus appeared offended by the very notion. "_**No one knows how well they're treated in those places – I wouldn't do that to the poor animal. It's not as if he hasn't been through enough, given the company he clearly kept. Hmm… Maybe someone could take him in for a bit until we find a good replacement home?**_"

Here, Sideswipe lit up. "_**I was talking to Ratchet not that long ago. Bumblebee did that same thing for a human that Prowl found once, and even Ironhide and Ratchet took in a human that Prowl brought to them.**_"

"_**Prowl brought them humans? Where would Prowl get ahold of those?**_" asked Magnus. He hadn't exactly been keeping tabs on the strategist, but he could not fathom why Prowl would get involved with the bipedal alien trend-setters.

"_**It's part of his job, I guess,**_" Sideswipe shrugged. "_**He sees to complaints and projects that require any amount of strategy, including – apparently – catching rogue humans and finding lost ones, not just helping run the settlement with Prime and the others.**_" Sideswipe again shrugged. "_**Apparently Bumblebee is the 'bot everyone has been going to regarding human matters, since he owns a couple, but Prowl knows all there is to know, too. It's just that he's Prowl, and Bee is more approachable.**_"

Magnus looked down at his unexpected passenger. "_**Well, if it's part of Prowl's job, then perhaps we should see him first about what this legally entails. I'm sure he'd enjoy lending an official hand**__._"

Sideswipe gave a third shrug, very noncommittal. Inside, he was pleased with the prospect of getting to go bug his favorite (former battlefield) tactician.

With a soft rolling of his optics, Ultra Magnus pulled up Prowl's old comm. frequency.

_**/ Hey, Prowl – it's Magnus, /**_ the 'bot said rather pointlessly. _**/ I know this may seem out of the blue, but Sideswipe and I have a few questions regarding the handling of confiscated humans. /**_

The mech on the other end of the line took a few moments to answer in a distinctly, uncharacteristically tired voice, _**/ Confiscated humans? What sort of questions do you need answered regarding them? **_/

Sideswipe – who had jumped silently into the conversation by inserting his own channel and requesting Magnus to make it a group communiqué – gave the higher-ranking mech a confused look. He hadn't heard Prowl like that in ages.

_**/ About whether it would be classified as evidence, or detained alongside its owner, or if it would be okay to immediately go and find a home or temporary home for it, / **_offered Magnus almost hesitantly. Even he was put on edge by the odd mental tone.

_**/ I'm not certain I could go into full details over a simple shared frequency. I'm currently at my apartment complex. Would you be able to see me mech to mech? And what are the circumstances pressing you to ask me that? / **_

Sideswipe stepped in with, _**/ Because we just took down Leadfoot and he had a human on him – seems sorta docile now. /**_

_**/ And yes, we would be able to be there in several breems. We're not all that far, / **_Magnus answered the other part of the question. It was, maybe, a five breem walk.

_**/ Leadfoot? /**_ Prowl repeated. _**/ I've wanted to apprehend him for some time now. He has quite the record… with crimes that have been increasing in severity, no less. /**_

Ultra Magnus chuckled once. _**/ I know – thus why we ourselves apprehended him. We can drop him and his human off at the nearest holding cells and then come see you about the details. /**_

_**/ Of course, drop him off, / **_agreed Prowl, _**/ but not the human. Bring it with you. If I can study its behavior - / **_and here, Sideswipe sent Magnus another glance, since there was a definite waver in Prowl's voice, _**/ then I can help guide you more on the legal ramifications. A docile human would have fewer stipulations surrounding it than one with any sort of aggressive tendencies or… abnormalities. /**_

_**/ Very well. Thank you, Prowl; we'll see you in several breems, /**_ Magnus said.

"_**That was odd. Something's definitely up with Prowl,**_" Sideswipe pointed out needlessly.

Though he nodded in agreement, Ultra Magnus led by example and did not press the issue. Whether or not Prowl was distraught about something was not his business.

* * *

In spite of the fact that the new pair were obviously trigger happy, Miles found that he was completely unharmed after he was taken into the larger mech's custody. The optic theory had worked: he'd been stolen by a red, the red had been downed by blues, and now a blue was holding him in protectively cupped hands. Miles was uncertain about where they could possibly be going – especially after his kidnapper had been dropped off at an obvious holding facility – but he found comfort in being able to assume he wasn't going to be killed or whatever.

The two mechs' walk brought them to a large, segmented structure that the teen pulled a double take at.

Hey…

Miles recognized this place! At least he thought he recognized it. Not that he'd been in the best state of mind at the time, but he remembered seeing something very similar to this the day that B-'n-W took him away from Sam and Mikaela; maybe, then, he'd seen it the day he'd been caught. This place looked an awful lot like where he was sure his owner lived.

His two newest captors navigated easily through the building once inside, destination unknown. The sense of familiarity continued to twinge, neither growing nor diminishing (Miles didn't expect it to, since he'd only seen the place once that he could clearly remember, if that).

Miles remained as calm as he could, holding onto the secret and weak hope that, at some point, he'd been tagged against his knowledge, and that these mechs were bringing him 'home.'

* * *

Magnus's unexpected passenger was very calm for the entirety of the trek. He was rather pleased with the human's behavior especially given that his owner was an ex-Decepticon. Once they were inside Prowl's apartment building complex, he commed the mech to warn him of their impending arrival. _**/ We're practically at your doorway now, Prowl; it'll just be a few moments more. And Sideswipe has been demanding that I at least inquire, /**_ said Ultra Magnus tiredly, giving Sideswipe an exasperated look, _**/ if there's anything wrong. /**_

Prowl responded close to immediately. _**/ It's nothing that either of you should really be concerned with,**_ _**/**_ came the answer, also sounding tired – but in the strained sense, not the physically exhausted sense. _**/ I only worry that I have suffered a robbery. /**_

Ultra Magnus halted abruptly. It took a second for Sideswipe to notice and stop as well; he was not yet a part of the communication. He gave his superior a questioning look.

_**/ A robbery? Prowl, if you even think that's a possibility, you shouldn't have invited us over! That could be serious! Did you know when you spoke with us earlier? /**_ asked the elder mech.

_**/ Yes, I suspected. Strange as it may seem coming from me, I needed something to distract me at least for a short while. /**_

_**/ Distract you? Since when do **_**you**_** want a distraction from **_**anything,**_** let alone from something like a robbery? /**_ Sideswipe jumped in without warning. Then the red mech hesitated. _**/ What was taken? / **_

There was a lengthy pause and the communication line remained silent. Then, _**/ My computers have signs that suggest someone hacked into their mainframes and copied data, but… the only truly 'stolen' article appears to have been… a human, /**_ he admitted at last.

_**/ A human? / **_Magnus asked, confused.

_**/ You were watching someone's human? /**_ Sideswipe asked roughly at the same time Magnus posited his two word inquiry.

Prowl's end of the communication sighed heavily. _**/ No. I was not watching a human for anyone else. He belonged to me. I took him in after he was disowned by a neglectful mech. /**_

Ultra Magnus and Sideswipe both turned their optics to one another in sudden shock and understanding. As they stepped up to Prowl's door, they again hesitated.

_**/ Prowl, you should be calling something like this in to the proper authorities, not having the two of us question you about legal proceedings. Are you sure you're up for this right now? / **_asked Ultra Magnus. He wanted nothing more than to give his old comrade every chance to back out.

_**/ I'm perfectly 'up for this now,' thank you, /**_ Prowl responded, unusually curt. _**/ I've already notified a couple mechs, but as far as the colony is concerned, I myself am the proper authority. /**_ They could hear the mech approaching from inside his domicile to open the door. Sideswipe gave Magnus a strangely reluctant look. The red twin wasn't an idiot; Prowl cared deeply about this. _**/ My acting rashly will not, /**_ Prowl was saying as he finally opened the door to greet and permit his friends entry, "_**help me find my human,**_" he finished out loud.

Ultra Magnus was about to say something to Prowl when the mech's optics caught quite hard on the human that he held. The black and white mech stared with an expression that Magnus could scarcely recall ever having seen on him, and he and Sideswipe blinked at one another.

"_**Uh, Prowl,**_" Sideswipe started, though it did nothing to gain the other mech's attention, "_**this is –**_"

"_**Quirk!**_" announced Prowl suddenly. His blue optics lit up all the brighter. He quickly and carefully took the smallish alien from Magnus's hands, drawing it close. "_**This is my human,**_" he said again, raising the creature to optic-level and inspecting it all over for injury.

The human did not protest, to the steadily waning surprise of Ultra Magnus and Sideswipe. In a strange sort of way, the creature actually looked quite relieved.

After a moment of being lost in his own little world – a world that the two non-resident mechs didn't dare intrude upon – Prowl looked up from the amazingly complacent alien. "_**Where did you find him?**_" he asked of his friends.

Magnus blinked a couple times. "_**As I told you – we acquired him from Leadfoot after we downed him. Do you mean to tell us that this human actually belongs to you?**__"_

"_**Yes, he's mine,**_" Prowl agreed. "_**Quirk has been in my possession for some orns now, ever since I caught him from a complex where his previous owner apparently disowned him.**_" The mech turned quite serious. "_**If Leadfoot had him then that suggests that he was the intruder that accessed my computers. A cerebral scan should reveal precisely what he took…**_" Absentmindedly, he ran a comforting finger down Quirk's back.

Magnus glanced sidelong at Sideswipe and gave him a half grin. "_**To think you wanted to shoot him.**_"

Prowl's optics snapped to the red twin, who instinctively looked very cornered. "_**You wanted to **_**what?**" the ex-tactician demanded. He drew his hands – and thus Quirk – closer to his frame.

"_**Hey, hey, I didn't know!**_" Sideswipe defended, raising his hands. "_**We thought he was Leadfoot's, so I thought he might be dangerous. It seemed like a smart thing at the time, to take out the threat. It's not like the thought would've even crossed my mind if I knew that he was actually yours!**_" He looked to the organic that was now staring at him. "_**Right, little guy? I'm not stupid enough to attack Prowl Pet.**_"

As if to prove this point, Sideswipe extended a hand and used two fingers to both pet at and toy with the human that Prowl, at first reaction, made to pull away. Yet, when the human put up minimal fuss, Prowl begrudgingly allowed the fiddling to continue.

Ultra Magnus spoke up from his momentarily forgotten place, "_**What inspired you to take in a human? I wouldn't have pegged you as the type of mech interested in watching over and sharing your quarters with a dependent alien species.**_"

Prowl did not answer at once. He stepped aside and showed his ex-comrades in, indicating for them to sit at the main table. Before sitting, Prowl deposited Quirk on the table, fetched one of the human's cloths and a food packet, and then gave these things to his pet. Quirk eagerly took the food, then spread the cloth out and plopped himself onto it.

"_**After I removed him from the complex, I knew he'd need an understanding temporary home. He'd been thrown out, or so I assume, and had been reduced to quite the primal state when I first found him,**_" Prowl recalled, finally getting around to Magnus's question. "_**I kept him partially out of fear of his inability to find a more suited home, and partially out of my own desire to keep a human. It is a worthwhile expenditure of my excess time and abilities, or so I feel.**_" He wordlessly watched Quirk rip into his bag and begin fishing the contents out. The human kept looking back and forth between Sideswipe and Ultra Magnus. The former responded by pulling awkward, sometimes generally inappropriate faces.

"_**If you do not mind, however, I'd like to discuss Leadfoot with you. I'm running tracers through all my computer systems, and so far a majority of the information that seems to have been hacked concerns previous cases I've investigated involving humans. Now, why might that be, do you propose?**_" posited Prowl, every ounce of his usual seriousness present.

The three mechs exchanged glances – Sideswipe's a little more lost than the others – and, naturally, they stole a glance at Quirk.

Magnus sat back slightly, contemplative. "_**Now… **_**that's**_** interesting…**_"

* * *

"_**Prime wants to know if any of our records would indicate the use of unsanctioned chemicals on our humans,**_" Perceptor announced to his assistant, Sharp Focus.

The slightly larger mech turned at the proclamation, leaving his inspection of a laceration that one of their youngest humans had obtained less than two breems ago, or so he wagered. She'd given a startled cry – thankfully while he'd been within audio-shot – and when he went to investigate, he'd found the adolescent's right forelimb sporting a small gash. She was being incredibly patient about Sharp Focus's attention to her arm, but she jumped at Perceptor's sudden presence.

"_**What do you mean?**_" he inquired. "_**Why would he want that?**_"

"_**He informed me that Jazz is conducting reconnaissance into the Earthen trades, not least of all the human outlet. After some system analysis, he concluded that the traders are exploiting balms of banned chemical concentrations on their injured humans to speed the healing processes or keep them tranquil, perhaps at an unsafe level,**_" explained the scientist. He came into the room, and quietly studied the human's cut as he continued, "_**Prime would like us to try and detect whether or not such substances have ever been used, and is curious as to whether or not we can detect any serious injuries procured during capture and processing. For now, we are to keep this research confidential. He sanctioned it, not the scientific community, and for hushed reasons.**_"

Sharp Focus tilted his head to the side. "_**Then we can begin immediately after I finish attending to Loosewire's cut.**_" He began to hold the arm steady between two fingers and fish out a protective salve from a top drawer. Then, he paused, sensing that Perceptor was smiling at him insistently. "_**What are our restrictions?**_"

"_**That, my friend, is the best part. I quote directly, 'use whatever moral means are necessary, and should something in the course of your studies lead you to another pertinent question, you are permitted to follow it up at your own discretion.' He volunteered a good portion of funding.**_" Perceptor could not keep a pleased grin from his face. It took a moment for it to sink in, but Sharp Focus was reduced to grinning with his mentor.

"_**He was intentionally open-ended and vague… He just gave us the liberty of conducting whatever humane, reasonable research we want,**_" clarified Sharp Focus, already in a daze at the possibilities.

Both mechs turned attention to Loosewire, who simply blinked at them, completely unaware of the important prospects now awaiting her, and the things she and the others in their care could help the mechs to realize.

* * *

Bumblebee watched his two humans with great interest and intense protectiveness.

Beachcomber had been right. Neither Signal nor Complement saw an unrestrained outing as an opportunity to make a break for it. At first, like Bumblebee suggested, they had been wary. He had brought them, in their carrier, out towards some of the colonial fringes, where the population was less dense. Once there, he had released them tentatively onto the ground.

It took a fraction of a breem for them to crawl out, looking confusedly around the whole time. Complement even glanced up at him as if asking for permission or for an explanation.

Bee let them explore for a little while, optics trained on them in case anything should happen, but they did not wander very far from him.

Then the ex-scout had tried walking. He whistled their attention and gestured with his hand, calling them to him. And, though he'd never trained them to respond to that sort of thing, they came. He took a few steps, repeated the gesture. Took a few more, and repeated the gesture again. Soon enough, the humans had a firm grasp that they were expected to follow after him when he went somewhere, and they did not even need a whistle or a waving-over to trace his footsteps.

This exercise lasted about a quarter joor. When Bee decided it was time to go home, he helped Signal and Complement back into their carrier. They did so without fuss, but with a notable exception to their normal behavior: he was thrilled to find them chattering excitedly – they had enjoyed being let out!

And so, over the following cycles, Bumblebee made it a point to put time aside to take his humans walking.

On one occasion, he prompted his pets to take the lead and explore as they saw fit. It took some time for them to grasp the newly allotted freedom and start taking advantage of it. When they did, however, it pleased Bumblebee to see them be able to walk along so naturally and without fear.

Once, he thought it would be appropriate to take some of his readings with him. He saw no loss in doing work outside of his home. Plus, if that meant Signal and Complement would benefit, it was all the better! He'd carried them and his datapads once more to the outskirts of the colony, specifically the site of an infrequently-used emergency ship maintenance facility. He set himself up comfortably against an outer wall and let his humans out. He smiled knowingly as they began their usual process of coming out, staying near, and then inching further and further away.

Bee chirped at them, encouraging them to go about as they pleased.

He entertained himself before starting his readings and form-fillings by watching Signal and Complement. The two did the oddest things sometimes… Like now, for instance, where Complement stood in place, raised her arms above her head, gave a hurried step forward, and then flipped herself over – in a complete circle – using her arms and her momentum.

Just what the purpose such a behavior could have was beyond Bumblebee, but, since the humans seemed entertained by it, he didn't worry too much. Instead, he simply allowed himself to be amused.

Eventually Bee had had to turn to his work. He read through one of three datapads – with only brief glances up to check on the humans – before giving his pets his full attention again. By then they were engaging in some odd hopping activity near one outer corner of the building. The ex-scout let himself focus on appreciating the eccentric behavior as opposed to trying to analyze it.

After the next datapad was read, and some portions signed, Bumblebee looked up to find that Complement and Signal had wandered off. Consciously preventing himself from growing immediately worried, Bee whistled loudly and clearly, and began glancing around.

A very short while before first Signal and then Complement poked their heads around the corner they'd been playing near earlier.

Bee clicked quietly with relief. He took that moment to pull out the 'snacks' he'd brought (two of the regular food packets) and offer them to the humans. They made their way towards him and claimed their meals. Instead of running back off, they ate noisily beside him, and only once they were finished did they get up and leave to continue their exploring – or whatever it was they'd been doing.

After the third and final datapad, Bee called his pets back. They obligingly climbed into their carrier and called it a day.

And so, just as with providing them time for playing and bathing in a basin of water, Bumblebee tried from then on to take them out –however briefly – as often as possible.

That's why things went as poorly as they did one cycle.

On that cycle, Bumblebee decided another visit to the Ark was in order. He checked in with Ratchet about whether or not they'd be welcome; Ratchet gave a resounding 'yes,' readily agreeing to have the ex-Autobot and his humans over again. He'd also explained that Softspark had recently taken to a very intriguing habit of lapsing into periods where her vocal tones melded together, flowing into one another in a strange sort of call. Neither he nor Ironhide had been able to find out what the call was meant to do, or who was intended to hear and respond to it, since the young human never appeared distressed when she did so. Much the opposite – she seemed either quite relaxed or content.

That only made Bumblebee want to go over more fervently. Bee told Ratchet that he had to see a mech relatively nearby the Ark about some nitpicky details of foundation work in the expansion zone, but he would head over directly afterwards, and would be bringing Signal and Complement with him.

So it wasn't surprising that, a joor or so later, Bumblebee found himself discussing building materials to be used to reinforce some of the groundwork in the 'under construction' section of Verita Pax. He and the ex-Con he was meeting with – Secondgear – talked for a good half-joor, hammering out the details. It helped that Secondgear was, perhaps surprisingly, a rather pleasant and laidback mech. Bee kept his humans' carrier nearby the entire time, and he even received a few compliments on them.

When the meeting was through they said their formal goodbyes, and Bee allowed an informal petting of his pets. Strangely, Signal acted rather wary of Secondgear when the mech opened the carrier door and reached a finger in to coddle him and his mate. Neither of his humans had been so wary around mechs in a while, so the sudden relapse was puzzling.

Once the whole event was over and Bumblebee exited the building, he crouched down and released his humans.

Both humans were still in something of a daze when they were released, glancing back at the building they'd just come from. Bumblebee glanced back with them, still wondering what it was about Secondgear that had set them on edge. No answer, however, presented itself, and so the yellow mech was left to shrug it off. He straightened and began walking. He only checked once to assure that his pets were following him.

The route they were taking was well out of the way of the average mech. Structures here were relatively scarce, and it was certainly a round-about way of getting to the stationary warship. Bee supposed that was why the humans appeared to like it so much. There weren't strange mechs to fear, and so, at time, they even dared to get several lengths ahead of him (he was walking rather leisurely, making sure that neither human was stressed for endurance).

"_**You guys are amusing, you know that?**_" said Bee, chuckling as the humans moved in and around debris and the scant buildings.

Finally, they'd reached one of the final city grid lines, and Bumblebee saw his pets take a left around a now-abandoned section of housing. Though he was aware it hadn't been intentional, Signal and Complement had headed in the right direction. From experience he knew that the section ahead to the left – at least for about a breem's walk – was nothing more than a natural sort of alley some five mechs wide between the line of evacuated housing and a jutting formation of rock. The rock ended after that breem, and went on for another few breems to the right, almost like a natural forming section of a wall to this side of the colony.

Assuming, then, that there was nowhere either human could run off to without him finding out, Bumblebee did not rush to follow after them around the building. He continued his lax pace.

He wished he hadn't.

When Bumblebee turned the corner, he saw that Signal and Complement had frozen in spot. They were incredibly tense, and staring upwards at the abandoned building. Bee hesitated where he stood, too, and followed their eyes. He saw nothing.

They were acting very oddly today… First Secondgear, now this? What was wrong with the building?

Whatever it was, Complement and then Signal began to backtrack.

Bumblebee frowned and came forward quickly then. He didn't like seeing them so distressed, especially when he didn't understand why.

"_**What's gotten into you guys?**_" he asked, coming up behind them and immediately drawing their shaky attention.

Even had they been able to answer, he wouldn't have heard them. The very next instant – he'd scarcely finished speaking – a once-familiar whistle of intense, heated energy erupted from Bee's left. The ex-scout turned quickly on dormant instinct; Bumblebee cried out once as a painful searing tore through his side.

Still instinctively, the mech's out-of-use arm canon formed. It took shape and charged as though it had last been used the minute prior, not vorns ago. It discharged just as easily, blasting through the side of the building at his unseen attacker, and sending debris raining through the air. His battle mask was down automatically.

Another shot came. This time, it was not as hindered by Bee's sudden action. The shot hit him again in the side, but with more force – enough force to send the ex-Bot backwards and spinning slightly. Bumblebee gave another pained cry when the blast finally had him falling to the ground.

Someone had attacked him. He couldn't think straight. The motion of using his canon had come back naturally enough, but he could not comprehend having been forced so suddenly into another fight for his life. No more shots were being fired, though – perhaps he had managed to do enough damage? _Unlikely, _thought Bee; _I couldn't even see him_.

The armor on his right side was blasted through, singed and melted at the point of contact. Already his systems were yelling at him; he was losing energon. Lines had been cut, and while the heat from the blast mostly had the severed cables and tubing sealed off, the leaks were still enough to call for imminent shut down. They would heal on their own given time, but not until they'd sent him offline…

Why?

Bumblebee noticed his plasma canon had reverted back. Obviously, he was unable to keep routing energy to it. He couldn't muster enough power to stand back up.

Why had he been attacked? What had he done?

"_**Our target isn't supposed to look like that… Oh slag. Slag, slag, slag! Slag it all, he's not the right mech! We shot the wrong fragging mech! The Unmaker himself, we really did it this time, 'Drift; we really fragged up this time!**_" someone hissed.

The mystery of the attack was both heightened and alleviated. Bumblebee keened softly as a fuel line backed up completely to stall further energon loss. This injury wasn't meant for him. He didn't have some secret enemy out there, angry over something and willing to attack him.

"_**But he's got two humans with him, and it's the same place… It's not our fault, it was an easy mistake,**_" a second voice, probably that 'Drift,' defended. He was much calmer. "_**It's just two more that can't be a problem, anyway.**_"

Still, why _did_ the mech want to attack whoever it was the shot had been intended for? Was anything really still worth that? Bee's straining processors couldn't help but wonder, _two more_ what _won't be a problem?_

"_**Whatever. Let's get out of here!**_" the first voice issued hastily.

Bee couldn't hear anyone retreating, but he was certain that they did. Shortly thereafter, another warning blazed across his alarm system, advising that energy loss was too great. Wires were shorting and sparking and draining him of his resources, causing system-stopping backups. Preservative shut down was drawing closer.

"_**No,**_" he muttered weakly. He couldn't go offline right here. His humans were with him, weren't they? His spark raced at the thought. Where were Signal and Complement? He had been right near them before the attack, and he hadn't seen them since… Were they okay? Had they run off at the commotion? Primus forbid – he hadn't inadvertently hurt them when he was taken down, had he? Had the original shots, or the shrapnel? "_**Complement… Signal,**_" he called, without any hopes at getting a response.

The systematic shutdowns of his mechanics were starting to take their toll. He began to dampen his optics, trying to conserve the energy he had left for as long as possible.

A shuffling noise drew his waning attention a moment later. His sensors perked again, and he shifted his head.

"_**Signal! Complement!**_" Bumblebee said, his dulled enthusiasm actually the most he could muster. Both humans were standing in front of him, looking him over. Could he be imagining things? They looked not only terrified, but concerned. They looked worried. It might have been his dimming processors playing tricks, but he felt so sure…! Bee reached an arm out for them, though it didn't get far. His motor relays were beginning to go offline. "_**Go… find someplace safe. I'll be… fine…**_"

Bumblebee's vocal processors stopped working then. There was only a moment's pause after before his alerts gave one final flash and all sensors went offline.

The last thing he saw was Signal shifting forward and backward in place, whining about something, and Complement drawing up behind him to grasp onto one of his arms and whining right back at him.

Maybe it was just his processors lost in the haze of shutdown, but he could almost imagine that his pets had been _talking_ to one another… humans, _talking_…

Then darkness.

* * *

**A.N.s**

And so concludes another chapter. Things are starting to get interesting again, right? Some of you said so last time, so I'm sure the sentiment continues if that was the case.

Oh – thatstrange 'call' thing Annabelle was mentioned doing? She's singing in her free time. Silly mechs, thinking she's trying to call someone for something...

I hope I can get the next chapter out in a timely a manner, but I have my doubts. I'll be heading down south soon – to Alabama, Georgia, etc. – to go on a civil rights tour with my scholar program, and putting together a presentation for the college. I expect that'll be quite time consuming. Preemptive sorry, then, about the cliffy and (likely) wait.

If you found any typo, please drop me a note of it! I can't thank **Darklight8121** enough for actually pointing one out to me for the last chapter. On that note... please review. I LOVE REVIEWS! All authors do!


	14. Coming Together in Pieces

**Title: **Property Of

**Rating: **T

**Summary:** During Cybertronian 'peace,' ex-Cons hide the sentience of and sell humans as pets to secure Earth. Sam and Mikaela might just be the first to grasp the reality of the situation alongside their new owner.

**Chapter: **Coming Together in Pieces

**A.N.**

Surprise, surprise – I managed to get this out just before the trip to the South, in spite of midterms and packing/preparation… I'm pleased with myself. However, that means the wait I was expecting between this chapter and the last will probably now fall between this one and the _next_. My bad.

I ought to explain this take on a certain Cybertronian anatomy piece from the get go, so you'll understand when I get to it fairly early on: the comm. links. I think there are both internal and external ways to activate the channels. Internal is more private and secretive, and external requires less energy; external is what mechs use whenever they raise hands to their heads during transmissions. Normally the latter is accompanied by a vocal conversation, not just a 'mental' one. Being external as it is, it is actually removed from many of the main systems.

On that same point, I also feel that a mech could never completely shut down, even if he went 'off line' into stasis. I feel that unless the spark is extinguished, something has to be alive in a mech's systems, no matter how faint or little it is. I.e., that remaining energy that can't be channeled to motor systems and sensors goes to other, less demanding things, like – say – peripheral systems, or external systems, all against the conscious knowledge of the mech…

So, now that that brief explanatory stuff is out of the way…

* * *

It was a nasty glow of red that caught Mikaela's attention and made her stop walking. Sam found himself immobilized when he spotted a second glow, eerily like a sci-fi laser warming up. They stared at the building in shock, the refusal of their muscles to move denying them any other options. On the other side of the dirty window, there was definitely at least one mech – maybe two; they thought they saw another set of glowing red lights – regarding them. The solitary, larger source of light strengthened and grew closer to the window, and a faint whine started up.

Yellow appeared from behind the building then. His presence alone was cause for the lights to retreat and completely disappear. Neither human was fooled by the sudden disappearance of the threatening lights, so they started to beat a steady retreat back the way they'd come. That was, until Yellow came up to stand behind them. His approach drew their attention, and what a horrible mistake that was, too.

In the next instant, the teenagers let out terrified screams as an explosion tore through the building, and then – apparently – Yellow. Mikaela let out a second shriek when she saw one of their owner's normally innocent arms rearrange itself into a fierce looking firearm whose end glowed a powerful blue in the moment before it returned fire at the building and sent more pieces of alien framework flying through the air. The teens had forgotten all about the robots' ability to change their shape… they hadn't seen any of them do anything like that to such an extent since Earth, and the reminder that Yellow maybe was not all that different from those mechs after all, when they got right down to it, was shocking and unwelcome.

Mikaela wound up being the more coherent of the two, as she quickly ran to get away from the action. Sam only followed her lead. In the moments that trailed Yellow's return fire, more shots came from the ruined confines of the building. They could hear Yellow cry out in pain, alien though it was. In a way, it sounded like the agonized squeal of a dying engine combined with the grating sharpness of nails on a chalkboard. It was easily the worst sound they'd ever heard.

Sam was glad to have put enough distance between him and Yellow because the mech was downed shortly after. With a weak keen, the normally-peaceful mech was on the ground, some of that blue liquid – and the humans remembered it well from the time Yellow had screeched at them about it, although they didn't quite understand how something could bleed the same thing it drank – splattered across the ground.

Plastered against the rocky outcrop and panting harder than they ever had, they watched with the same astonishment they had before when Yellow's gun-arm began to shift about in a show of extraterrestrial mechanics. The arm and hand that they were used to were back before long.

Voices rose from inside the building. Their attackers spoke quickly, and just a few seconds later, Sam could see their shadows (and the red glow of their optics) retreating through the heavily damaged structure to take some unknown exit.

"Oh man, oh man… What the hell?" Sam muttered, not even realizing that one of his hands was clutching at the unearthly rock so roughly that he was about to give himself a nasty cut.

Yellow called out then, voice weak. Sam didn't know why entirely, but he was drawn to it. The mech sounded so desperate – so defeated. It was pitiful. Mikaela felt much the same way, because Sam had barely taken a step forward before she was following, coming around the mech's front, giving that deceitful arm a wide berth. Yellow didn't even respond to their advance at first, seeming not to have detected it at all.

Was he… dying?

"Sam, we should go!" Mikaela said, a sudden wave of logic hitting her. She gestured away from the wounded mech, their owner. "We're not safe in the open. What if they come back?"

Sam, however, showed no sign of wanting to leave.

"We can't just leave him here," Sam protested. He had no idea what staying could possibly do for Yellow, but he couldn't run away – he couldn't. The teen walked over to the fading mech. Yellow's optics flashed brighter when he finally saw Sam approaching him, and he said something or other, volume terribly low.

"Oh man," Sam mourned, rocking in place and raising his hands to his head. "This looks so bad… We gotta help him, Mikaela – we gotta do something!" He didn't even stop when he felt Mikaela's arms wrap around one of his. She didn't need to speak; he could feel her own worries and attempts at comfort in the gesture.

"What can we possibly do to help him?" she, too, mourned. She watched the pained mech, feeling lost and helpless. There was nothing they could do to aid something like him. For a moment, she lamented that she wasn't being faced with a broken-down car. That, she might have been able to help with. But a robot? She didn't know her way around one of those.

And then, without any other warning, the optics turned off and the speech died in Yellow's… in whatever it was that the robots used to speak with.

Sam blanked for an instant, and then he ran to the mech, demanding that he get up and move. Sam just managed to recognize Mikaela drawing up alongside him demanding the same thing. They stared in silent horror when Yellow gave no response.

"We're not going to make it out here alone. His friends found us the one time," Sam said, "but I doubt they're going to find us this time." If – and Sam didn't want to think about it – Yellow was really… dead… then there wouldn't be any help coming for them. Sam was no fool. This place clearly didn't get many visitors. Beyond that, he had no idea where they were. He didn't trust himself to be able to wander around looking for help, because even if he managed to find some without getting lost, and somehow managed to convey there was an emergency, he doubted he'd be able to find his way back. What use would he be then?

Mikaela sighed in agreement. "That one guy was about to kill us, I know it. For some reason I don't think he's alone in that." She folded her arms over her chest and regarded the fallen form of the mech who had only ever shown them kindness and respect. "We could wait with him. Just hope someone comes by?"

"That's all we _can_ do," admitted Sam quietly.

The two were silent for a while. Mikaela eventually shuffled around and moved forward, sitting up against Yellow's arm, avoiding the glowing blue droplets of thick liquid. Sam joined her after only a second's hesitation.

Neither was sure exactly how long passed, but it must have been around ten minutes of tense silence and unnatural stillness before Sam jumped.

"What?" demanded Mikaela. She wouldn't admit it, but the sudden motion had scared her half to death.

"That thing!" Sam said, standing. "The thing on the left side of his head. The thing he presses when he calls all those other mechs – and Softie does it too! The button that put him in contact with them! What if I press that?" he asked, already walking around the mech's frame and moving closer to Yellow's head. He could hear a very faint buzz of mechanics inside the mech now that he was closer, which had to suggest that the mech wasn't really dead, right? At least he hoped it did.

Mikaela considered that for a while. She didn't want to be pessimistic, but she also didn't want to raise futile hopes. "If he's not 'turned on,' then it probably isn't on, either. And we don't speak robot, Sam. And what if he needs to enter a personal code or something? You might not get in contact with anyone, even if it was on."

"I don't think he's completely 'off,' 'Kaela. Listen – you can hear things going on in there… and I have to try," he insisted. He ran a hand awkwardly around the side of the mech's head where he'd seen Yellow and others press during conversations. It took him a while to come upon the small button, built as stealthily into the head armor as it was.

Sam pressed his full weight against it, pushing with all of his strength. Beyond an initial little click, there was silence. Sam was almost ready to let go and give up when a funny buzzing sound came up. It was so quiet that Sam almost missed it, but once the added buzz stopped with a sudden 'click', he realized that it had probably been the only audible sign that he'd had a returned call. Or, once again, at least he hoped that's what it was.

Optimistic that he hadn't missed his chance, Sam started screaming as loud as he could (under the assumption that his side, too, would come out very quietly – if at all – to whatever mech was answering the call). He yelled at the noise to hurry up and come find them and said that they needed help and they needed it fast, because Yellow was in serious trouble. Sam shut up after about thirty seconds. It was quiet again. Then the buzz came back, a bit louder than before. Sam screamed at it again; obviously what he'd done had been enough to keep the mech on the other end of the line interested. Then, there was another click, followed by silence that remained unfilled.

"Did… did that just work?" Mikaela voiced Sam's own unspoken hopes in disbelief, once several seconds had passed.

Sam turned his torso to her, rooted to the spot. "I don't know," he managed. "I hope so. I definitely got some kind of response, but I have no idea from who…" _Or how they're going to find us, even if there was someone on the other end of that built-in walkie-talkie, and even if that robot had been able to understand his frantic shouting._ Sam decided not to vocalize the more cynical of his thoughts. He couldn't handle anymore negativity right now. Instead he settled down on the ground, nestling back in next to Mikaela, who wrapped an arm over his shoulders and pressed her face into his arm. It took Sam a moment, but he reciprocated, shifting to wrap one of his arms around her.

They sat in companionable but desolate silence for some time.

The time that lapsed was uncertain. Consciously, the teens knew it couldn't have been more than twenty minutes at most, but they also knew that it felt so much longer than that. Mikaela heard the sounds of a moving mech before Sam did, and she looked up in such contrasting haste that Sam thought they might be under attack again.

"What…?" whispered Mikaela frantically, back arching closer to the still form behind her. The approaching mech was talking to himself… No, wait… The teens' eyes widened when they simultaneously realized that there were two voices. Two voices meant two mechs.

Two mechs were getting nearer, and two mechs had attacked them. The humans' first instinct was to draw closer into Yellow's frame. Mikaela huddled her body more and she slipped further under the mech's side. Sam followed her lead and pulled deeper into the shadow and shelter of Yellow's sprawled arm and the coincidentally perfect gap where the mech's body was just slightly off the ground for him and Mikaela to wedge themselves into.

Neither wanted to look up when they heard the footsteps and voices stop directly nearby. Then the mechs were talking again. Sam dared to raise his eyes, and he saw that the mechs weren't their attackers, but were familiar.

They were two of Yellow's friends that lived in the huge compound with Annabelle – Black and The Doctor. The black mech pointed at him, but Sam did not recoil. He knew this was good news; these guys would certainly know what to do. The Doctor reached out and shifted Yellow's arm. Silver-and-yellowed fingers closed around Sam and drew him out, then reached for and drew out Mikaela. The mech sounded as though he was crooning at them as he placed them next to one of his feet.

Mute, Sam and Mikaela watched The Doctor lean over Yellow and investigate the wound in his side. They winced in sympathy when the larger mech's fingers grazed over the damage and came back lightly coated in that blue liquid. The Doctor spoke quietly, perhaps to himself, and soon waved Black over. Together, they carefully lifted Yellow up. Mikaela and Sam stared in awe as the mech was picked up as though he weighed very little, as opposed to the tons the humans were sure he carried. Black supported the majority of his downed friend's weight, and he was the first to make a motion to leave.

For a second the teens were afraid the two mechs would've been fine leaving them there – not that they wouldn't have run after them, anyway – but The Doctor gave them a quick gesture that suggested he expected them to follow obediently. They hastily jogged after the mechs, sparing only brief glances at one another, and not yet daring to speak.

* * *

The cycle was conspicuously unremarkable up until that point. One might even say unbearably so – Ratchet would've said so. Although, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was bound to go amiss on a cycle as incredibly regular as this. So strong was the sensation that he'd been quite close to voicing his suspicions aloud, but didn't for fear that Ironhide would tease him again about his inexplicable sixth sense.

Softspark was contented on the floor with the metallic bearings Ironhide had gifted her with; Ironhide was quietly tweaking one of his canons, for reasons unknown; _he_ was taking the time to repair and recalibrate all of his medical instruments that he kept on hand in the room and on his person.

He was in the middle of sharpening the blades on one of his precision saws when Softspark began her curious crying again. Ratchet stopped instantly and rotated on his seat to regard the youngling. Doing so, he saw Ironhide mirroring him. So far, the human hadn't reacted well to their attempts to discern what it was she was calling for, or what the cries signified. They had realized they needed to be more discreet about it if they wanted any chance of understanding the behavior.

But Softspark seemed to sense their attention, as she suddenly stopped and looked up at them. Like the other times, she started wiggling in place, as if physically feeling their gazes, and eventually stopped making any noise at all and returned to her game.

The mystery of it all remained for another cycle. Last the medic saw before he turned back to his work, Ironhide was still observing his human with intrigue.

Maybe a breem passed – at most – when a communication ping went off in Ratchet's systems. The identification signal revealed it to be Bumblebee (and thank Primus, because maybe his humans would finally shed some light on the situation).

"_**Hello? Bee, what do you need – the main doors should be open,**_" responded Ratchet automatically, instinctively out loud at the very distinct external nature of the communications request. He couldn't explain it, but something wasn't feeling right about this transmission, either…

There was no answer for a short while. And then, a most curious noise filled Ratchet's side of the transmission. An alien series of noises came, loud and frenzied, from Bumblebee's side, and it was not hard to identify the source as a human – probably Signal, if the vocal register was anything to go by (although at present the tones were so stressed he couldn't be certain).

"_**Bumblebee? I don't know what you're playing at,**_" Ratchet said sternly, tone rapidly dropping back into 'threatening' mode. Really, it was just his rapidly mounting concern. "_**You need to answer me right now and get your human away from your transmitters.**_" He allowed a brief pause, but the human was still freaking out. Ironhide's gears made a gentle sound as the weapons specialist gave the medic and the conversation his focus. "_**Answer me right now, or I promise you that the next time you need maintenance done, it'll be the single-most trying experience of your life, and you know that I make good on my threats.**_"

But the human kept on wailing. With a horrible sensation of dread, Ratchet shut off the link. He turned partially to Ironhide, optics not yet focusing on the mech. "_**Bumblebee's external comm link with me was activated,**_" Ratchet told Ironhide somewhat needlessly, since the conversation had been out loud, "_**But it wasn't Bumblebee who answered. All I could hear was one of his humans. Thing must've been in some serious spot of trouble, because it was wailing its organic head off…**_"

"_**What, like a prank?**_" Ironhide asked him. He straightened on his seat, glancing quickly at Softspark. The young human was watching them now.

Ratchet adopted a grave expression. "_**No. No, I don't think so. The human sounded terrified, or extremely stressed at the very least. Bumblebee would never let them get that bad. And I told Bee to answer in the strictest way I know, told him he was going to make me give him a physical from the Pit for old times' sake, but he didn't respond. The human started yelling at me again. I think there could be something wrong.**_"

Ironhide was sickened by the thought of something being wrong with Bumblebee, wherever he was. "_**Then switch on the homing devices in his humans and find out where he is so we can go check it out.**_"

The medic nodded, and did just that. Unnervingly, the twin signals – while virtually on top of one another, meaning at least the humans were together – were coming from along one of the nearby outer perimeters of the colony. What the lot of them could possibly be doing there was lost on the medic… unless Bumblebee, for whatever reason, had chosen an alternative route to get to the Ark. He marked the coordinates of their current position and turned off his reception of their signals. Bumblebee would be at the current coordinates, not wherever they might wander off to, and he didn't want to become distracted by conflicting locations.

Ratchet shared the coordinates and simultaneously made sure all his emergency tools were subspaced (better to be paranoid than unprepared). The pair of old friends were careful to avoid Softspark in their haste to leave and investigate what was wrong with Bumblebee. Ironhide consoled her quickly before leaving – ran a finger from her head down her back – and made sure the door to the rec room was properly sealed and locked so that she'd be secure.

The ex-Autobots moved quickly, driven by a somewhat subdued sense of urgency that harkened unpleasantly back to the Great War. It may have seemed an extreme psychological jump, but in reality, it wasn't so great a stretch. After so many years of it, even the hint of something wrong still sometimes set the mechs back into war mode. Ratchet tried to argue himself out of the mindset.

"_**I wonder what he could possibly have gotten himself into?**_" he questioned aloud, hoping to steer his thoughts away from their instinctive jump to blaming a second, malevolent party.

Ironhide huffed lowly. "_**It'd be just like some 'Con to jump an unsuspecting 'Bot when the opportunity arose,**_" he offered grimly.

Ratchet gave him a glower. He should have known better than to ask that question around Ironhide, who had never given up one iota of his hatred of Decepticons, be they ex- or otherwise. "_**I'm serious. What could possibly have happened that made him unable to use his own communications system? Hopefully it's not a mixture of downed systems and a recurrence of damage to his vocal processors…**_" Surely that would work as a less violent excuse. Or, still including violence, the ex-scout might have fallen victim of some street brawl, although that didn't explain how the external comm. link had been activated.

Luckily, they really were not all that far from the Ark. Following the outcrop of rock at their brisk pace, it took less than two breems to come across the proper coordinates.

"_**I'm thinking that at worst he might be immobilized from a fight, or have related damages… Please, try not to jump to any conclusions,**_" Ratchet warned ahead of time. He did not need Ironhide going off because of any injuries the ex-scout may or may not have obtained, assuming he was still there at all.

"_**I'm not about to fritz because of a little – what's…? Bumblebee!**__"_ Ironhide said in disbelieving shock the instant they cleared their side of the rocky outcrop.

The young mech was sprawled offline in the alleyway, more injured than he'd expected, clearly a victim of some fight or another.

Ratchet demanded, "_**What on Cybertron happened here?**_" Even he had not expected to see the gaping hole seared through his ex-comrade's side. He moved forward quickly, powering up his more serious scans and readying his finger sensors to examine the severity of the wound. Ironhide stepped after him awkwardly.

"_**Hey… Bee's not alone,**_" the black mech pointed out, gesturing to a human peeking up at them from underneath one of the 'bot's arms. It was Bumblebee's human, Signal. Upon closer inspection, they saw that the female was also with him, the pair of them mostly cowered under their fallen owner's limp arm and frame.

Quietly awed by such a display of loyal affection and/or dependence, Ratchet crouched down. He conscientiously shifted Bumblebee's arm and pulled Signal out and placed him momentarily next to his foot. Ratchet also fished out Complement, being wary of human fragility as he brushed her limbs out from under Bee's side and scooped her closer.

"_**There, there; Bumblebee will be alright soon enough,**_" Ratchet assured absentmindedly as he ran his scans over the downed scout. While the seared hole in Bee's side was an obvious enough injury, he was taking count of all the damaged wires. Luckily the damage was concentrated enough that it could be relatively quickly fixed. Bumblebee would be just fine after a few repairs were made; the blast had missed anything majorly important, grazing only one primary energon line at its worst. Only a very slight coat of energon could be picked up from running his fingers over the damaged area, meaning the flow had long since stopped, which was a good sign for now. "_**Ironhide, if you'd help me carry him back… He's not in immediate danger of offlining, though his self-repair systems need some serious assistance, so he needs to be handled with extra care, not haste. I believe the pair of humans would follow us.**_"

Ironhide grunted his affirmation and, with Ratchet giving a slight hand, managed to lift Bee up and stabilize the smaller mech against his own frame. Once the yellow mech was secured, Ratchet and Ironhide began the return journey. Ratchet gave the panicked looking humans a summoning wave, which they responded to with haste.

So much for a conspicuously unremarkable cycle.

* * *

One of Annabelle's favorite pastimes was rolling and chasing after the set of tiny balls that Black had given her. They were about the size of her fist, so maybe they weren't really all that small, but they were light, and incredibly smooth, and a silvery-grey in color. Five in all, she enjoyed pushing them away in all different directions and then running around to gather them back together. Sometimes she pretended she was a sheep dog and rounded them up into a neat circle and barked at them to stay put; sometimes she pretended she was a tiger and growled at them and pounced on them once she had a ball cornered.

Black and The Doctor always became very concerned when she started doing this. Frankly, Annabelle didn't think they understood the game. But that was okay! Sometimes adults just didn't get it.

Actually, Annabelle tried not to play like that around The Doctor. One time she accidentally hit him in the leg with one of the balls when she threw it haphazardly to the side with a playful yell. Though he didn't punish her – she'd been afraid he would, because her parents warned her about bothering others with her games, especially if they were doing something; she'd retreated under a table just to be sure – The Doctor had seemed quite disapproving. He didn't like being interrupted when he was working.

Black didn't mind, though. Neither did the girl-robot who had stayed with them. Annabelle gave a little giggle at that, which – unbeknownst to her – drew the looks of both mechs present. She hadn't known that Black had a _girlfriend!_ And that was so obviously what she was, because the blue lady had slept in the same bed as him, just like_ her_ mommy and daddy. Maybe they had baby robots somewhere, too? She giggled again at the thought, and hoped she'd get to play with them if they were out there.

Annabelle liked the blue lady – and it was so clear that the robot had been a lady, or so she thought. Blue Lady had played with her and Black, and Black really liked her, so she liked her, too. She'd even been a little sad when Blue Lady left a few days ago.

"Twinkle, twinkle, little star! How I wonder what you are!" she sang loudly, tucking her feet under her and rearranging the rolly balls into the points of a star. "Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the…?"

Oh yeah. Annabelle rocked back and forth and blinked up innocently at the two mechs who were now giving her their undivided attention. They didn't really like it when she sang. A little while ago she'd seen a scratch on Black that looked sort of like the letter 'a,' so she'd been inspired to sing the alphabet song her parents had taught her. She suffered a couple stumbles trying to recall letters because she was out of practice, but when she finished, she didn't think it was those mistakes that had Black looming over her and looking at her from all different angles. The behavior change had startled her, and she fidgeted crazily under the scrutiny.

He brought her immediately to The Doctor after that. The yellowish mech had run many tingly waves of light over her, and at one point picked her up and held her very close to his face. Annabelle continued her fidgeting, eyes drawn to stare at one of the mechanical eyes that kept shifting as it, too, stared at her. She wrung her tiny hands nervously – she wasn't in trouble, was she? – and The Doctor was highly interested in the action. She stopped that at once and sat on her hands, wanting to give them no reason to be upset with her.

Eventually he'd given up and handed her back to Black, though she'd very shortly afterwards been given food, another set of clothes, and presented with her rolly ball toys.

Annabelle had practiced the song a few more times over the following days, and every time, the mechs wanted to fiddle with her.

She quickly learned to try not to do that around them. They acted like she was broken or something!

This day, they stopped at just staring at her. She offered them a little shrug and returned to the balls, tiring of the star shape and starting to roll one of them back and forth between her hands. Neither mech bothered her after that, though she did notice that they kept watching her for a while after she stopped her song.

Suddenly The Doctor began talking. Annabelle looked up sharply, wondering if he was talking to her or to Black, but found that the mech was still facing his counter. Her face screwed up in puzzlement as he kept talking, visibly growing more upset and getting louder. This led to the two big aliens talking back and forth. Then, the next thing Annabelle knew, they were moving around the room hurriedly.

Her eyes widened at the unusual response.

It wasn't long at all before The Doctor was stepping out of the room. Annabelle blinked up at Black when he rubbed her back gently and then followed his friend. The girl played with the idea of jumping up and running after them, but Black closed the door behind him, shutting her into the room.

Oh. Well that made it easy to decide what she was going to do next.

Annabelle took the opportunity to sing to her heart's content, flowing from more alphabet practice into finishing her rendition of 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,' to a forgetful recitation of 'I'm a Little Teacup,' and then a partially sung, partially hummed version of 'Hush Little Baby' that her mom used to sing for her… She definitely didn't remember all the words, but she remembered the melody well enough.

When she tired of singing, she invented a game with the rolly balls, giving each one its own role in a family, and acting out a daily routine (she took great joy in rolling the daddy ball away to work). Maybe unintentionally, she reenacted her own capture, although she came up with an imaginary friend who had been taken, too.

Annabelle eventually tired of that game as well, and took to simply rolling the balls around the room.

She couldn't have guessed as to how much time had passed if she'd been asked to. Luckily, she wasn't asked to. All Annabelle knew was that it was only Black who came back into the room. By that time, she had chased down four out of five of the balls scattered in her latest round of the game into a single group. He seemed a little upset about something, which set Annabelle on edge. However, he came over and picked her up and once he had her secure – albeit minus her toys – he took her out of the room.

Looking around for a source for the mechs' funny behavior, the girl thought she understood why when she was brought into a large room that was very much occupied.

Sam and Mikaela were back, that much was true, but that wasn't the first thing she noticed. Their mech, Yellow, was laid out on a table, and The Doctor was doing… doctoring things to him, working on what looked like a big hole in the yellower mech's side. Sam and Mikaela were watching The Doctor work with great intensity from the counter that they'd been placed on nearby, tracing each of the larger mech's motions when he'd reach for a different tool or shift to a better position to handle a different aspect of the injury.

Black placed her down near the older humans, and Annabelle quickly moved to stand in front of Mikaela.

They gave her half-hearted greetings. It was clear that they, like the mechs, were more focused on Yellow for once.

"What's wrong with him?" she asked. "How'd he get the booboo?"

Sam looked at her for a second. "Someone mean attacked him and gave it to him."

"But The Doctor's making it all better?" Annabelle asked with wide eyes.

Mikaela was quick to reassure, noting the alarmed look on Annabelle's face. "Yeah, he's fixing him up like a good doctor should." Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was surprised at how accurate the name they'd given 'The Doctor' really was.

Influenced by the somberness of the room, Annabelle settled down on Mikaela's left and watched the mechs work on Yellow. The smallest of the mechs was completely still, as though he were asleep, or dead. The Doctor moved very methodically, and his attention never moved from his patient, except the spare word directed at Black, who would respond by going and grabbing a piece of wire or small square of metal or the like.

The Doctor got up once and rummaged through some cupboards to fish out a clear, cubic container filled with some blue, faintly glowing substance. There appeared to be a graduated scale along one of the thing's sides, which The Doctor studied carefully. He attached a series of wire-like tubes to a weird gizmo and placed the gizmo end of the contraption into the cube. The humans watched in rapt attention as The Doctor fixed the tubes up to something in Yellow's innards and the level of liquid in the container began to steadily decrease.

"So that stuff really is like their blood," said Sam quietly. "It's like a transfusion."

Annabelle didn't recognize the word, but she didn't ask.

The Doctor did this intermittently several more times, although overall only a small fraction of the liquid was ever used. At least an hour had to have elapsed by the time Black fetched Annabelle and brought her over to a different table, despite her mild protests at being taken away from the teens she'd been sitting with. While the yellowish medical mech kept working on fixing up Yellow – the damage was starting to disappear, bit by bit – Black brought each of them a food packet to suffice as lunch. After she had eaten, Annabelle was allowed to sit with Sam and Mikaela again. She saw their packets had been pushed to the side.

Another hour went by, just as tense as the previous. Only, as this one drew to a close, Yellow gave a tiny noise of discomfort. The sound of it had Sam and Mikaela sitting at full attention, drawing their breaths. The other mechs weren't as surprised by the sound, and The Doctor kept fiddling. But, it became more and more clear that Yellow was coming back alive before their eyes!

* * *

When they got back to the Ark, sporting three more bodies than they'd left with, Ratchet and Ironhide took Bumblebee to the medical bay. Ratchet had the stasis-locked scout set up on the table closest to the partial-perimeter counter. Once he was appropriately positioned, Ratchet helped the anxious humans up onto the counter itself so that they could stay nearby but not get under foot.

"_**Just tell me how I can help,**_" Ironhide had said. Though the practiced medic really didn't require any help, for the sake of keeping the black mech from feeling useless, Ratchet provided a list of tools he could gather, and suggested he go check on Softspark.

So Ironhide first went and collected his human (leaving her with the adults of her species on the counter) and then collected and presented the tools. He aided Ratchet in the only way he could over the next half joor, excusing himself once to get some food for the humans, because no one knew when last Bee's pets had eaten, and in the state they were in, they needed all the help they could get. Just in case, he separated Softspark from them so that she could eat in peace. Bee's poor pets were sitting there silently the whole time, intent on their owner, not even touching the food.

Ratchet steadily saw the repairs coming together. First the wound was cleaned, then the main motor wires cleared and replaced, then the sensory wires, and eventually the severed but closed-off energon lines. Ratchet himself fetched his stock of energon prepped for system transfusion. A scan of Bee's systems revealed just how much would be needed, and he intermittently began replacing energon; he only let small volumes be added at a time, so as not to shock the damaged systems. He removed armor joints and gears that had been melted beyond current repair, and replaced them, grinding away micrometers worth of metal to make sure they fit as well as the originals had. Ratchet grabbed stock metal and replaced the torn plating, and used extra solder to fill in any relatively menial damages that might cause a plate to pause in mid-transformation, or a joint to catch. When the injury finally appeared for all the world to never have been inflicted, he allowed the rest of the necessary energon to flow in one sitting into the ex-scout's systems.

Then, piercing tip of the transfusion tube removed, all there was now was to wait for Bumblebee to come back online. Ratchet supposed he could have initiated a jumpstart of the mech's systems, but since that was highly unnecessary, he did not. Besides – Bee was regaining consciousness quickly enough, first with automated systems booting up – allowing for involuntary groans and noises given over damage now gone – then higher systems, granting motion and use of conscious sensors.

"_**It shouldn't be long now,**_" the CMO advised Ironhide, who was getting antsy behind him. Work done for now, he got up to wash his hands of Bee's dried energon and the metallic shavings he'd worked off of the replacement pieces. He cleaned some of his tools and put them back in their places, sensors trained on the recovering 'bot the entire time.

Signal especially began to act up as Bumblebee came back into his own. Given that the human was small enough to be handled and consoled (rather unlike the weapons specialist), Ratchet scooped the male into his freshly cleaned hands and took his seat again. He slowly pet the human, quietly muttering that Bumblebee would be online soon enough, despite the fact that the mech was taking his sweet time with it.

Finally, Bumblebee gave a particularly meaningful groan and his optics opened up. At first the sensory lights were dim, but they strengthened to full intensity quite quickly. "_**What hit me?**_" he asked, glancing around in bewilderment at his surroundings.

From Bumblebee's perspective, he had suddenly gone from being in pain in an uninhabited section of the colony to without pain – the initial sensations of it had turned out to be only ghosts in his systems – and in the Ark's med bay. A systematic scan of his surroundings detailed that Ratchet and Ironhide were both there, as well as his two humans and Ironhide's.

"_**We were hoping you'd be able to tell us,**_" Ratchet said, leaning forward.

"_**It was a 'Con, wasn't it?**_" Ironhide said with a nod. "_**Some sneaky slagger that ambushed you.**_"

Bee narrowed his optics in thought. He was slowly recalling the series of events that had led up to his falling offline, albeit they were very hazy. There had been gunfire, of course… but he had never managed to get a look at the perpetrator. "_**I… I don't know. I never saw who it was, they were too quick. I don't think it was meant for me, though. There was more than one; one of them said I… I was the wrong mech?**_"

Ironhide grunted in disappointment. That wasn't going to be any help in hunting down the mech – now mechs – responsible and teaching them a lesson.

Bee used the following silence to sit up. Gingerly, he touched at the site of repairs that Ratchet had finished with, recalling the dismantled internals. "_**Thanks, Ratchet,**_" Bee said quietly.

"_**You don't need to thank me. I wasn't about to let you lay around with a hole in your side,**_" the medic said.

The smaller yellow mech looked quickly at both Signal and Complement, double-checking his sensors with visual reinforcements. He'd been so worried about them when he went offline, fearful that they'd wander off or starve if no one came along… which brought up a pertinent question.

"_**How did you guys find me? I didn't think my Autobot signature was still activated.**_"

Looking like he was about to let Bee in on a great secret, Ratchet replied, "_**It's not. Your organic used your comm. to get in contact with us. Lucky for him, I was the last mech you'd contacted, so my signal was the active one. Little thing screamed at me over the link, twice. He was freaking out about your status, definitely,**_" Ratchet said, petting the human in his hands appreciatively as he informed Bumblebee of his pet's heroic loyalties. In retrospect, Ratchet was fairly certain it had been Signal who 'made the call.' "_**The pair of them must've stayed with you the entire time, huddled against your frame. We used their transmitter signals from the position they were in right after the comm. link was activated. It was rather endearing to find them there when we arrived**__._"

Bumblebee stared at Signal with amazement. "_**He used my comm. link?**_" He blinked at the Earthling, then stole a glance at Complement.

"_**Mm-hmm**__,_" confirmed Ratchet.

"… _**But how did he know to use that?**_" Bumblebee tilted his head as he regarded the human with mounting suspicion.

"_**Mimicry?**_" the medic offered. It wasn't as though he had had a lot of free time to ponder that issue, though he was thoroughly stumped by it all the same. Ironhide nodded his agreement.

Bumblebee thought that one over, but quickly shook his head. "_**I don't think it was ever clear that that's what I was doing when I used my comm. Besides, I only ever used it a few times when they were around, as far as I remember…**_"

Ratchet eyed him. "_**Then what are you suggesting? That he **_**divined**_** the information?**_"

"_**I'm suggesting that he reasoned out that that's what it was for, and had enough sense to use it himself when I was in trouble. Like… what if the times he saw me using it, he figured that's why other mechs showed up or why I went somewhere else soon after?**_" Bumblebee posited. Now that he thought about it, the few times he had used his external comm. link around Signal or Complement, he always had either left to go somewhere, or someone had fairly shortly shown up. But, the time between the two was still significant – too great, he thought, for the correlation to be apparent to anything that couldn't make a mental stretch to connect them.

"_**Bumblebee, reasoning means sentience – undeniable higher thinking.**_"

The ex-scout hesitated before responding. When he did it was rather sullen. "_**I know. And I don't regret suggesting it. I…**_" began Bee, recalling one of the last memories his processors had been able to store before going offline, "_**…Ratchet, I think they can talk.**_"

Ratchet stopped petting Signal abruptly. It was so sudden a change that Signal looked up at the medic funnily, and Complement – who was sitting on the counter near Ratchet, and holding Softspark – also made an interesting expression. Bumblebee stared at them the whole time.

_Those expressions… is it just concern at a change Ratchet made? Or are they really trying to reason out the cause of the change and what that means for them?_ Bee couldn't help but wonder now.

"_**You what?**_" Ironhide asked in Ratchet's place.

"_**I think they can talk,**_" said Bumblebee, a little more firmly this time. He blinked up at Ratchet. Ironhide, now, was shifting closer, drawn in by the statement. Right before he continued speaking, Bumblebee focused on Complement, remembering how her expression and body language had changed after being 'addressed' by her mate in the alley. "_**Before I went offline, I heard them exchanging noises – what we normally write off as just that, pointless noises – but… I mean, maybe it was only because my processors were fuzzy, but I think they were talking to one another. I think… I think they might actually have a language.**_"

Was it possible, Ratchet wondered? Every time the humans had vocal exchanges… had it been so much more than just odd growling or whining or grumbling? The medic easily pictured the introduction of Softspark to Signal and then Complement, and just as easily remembered the increased frequency with which the humans had made those odd little noises of theirs. If they really were able to vocally communicate with one another in something as complex as actual language, then it made sense. The adults might have been explaining the situation to the youngling, which might be an alternate explanation as to how quickly Softspark's behavior had changed. Softspark sometimes continued to make the noises when there was no other member of her species around her, however. Was that a flaw in the hypothesis? Or was it another point of evidence: if humans were sentient, and if they could have their own personalities, perhaps the youngling's 'talking to herself' was not any more unusual than the way Wheeljack often spoke to himself…

"_**If they have a language of their own – if they can speak in the way you're thinking they can…**_" Ratchet trailed off, unconsciously looking down – suspiciously so – at the creature in his hands.

Ironhide finished the thought with dangerously narrowed optics. "_**…then that means they'd really be sentient.**_"

Nodding faintly, Bumblebee agreed again, "_**I know.**_"

"_**If humans are sentient, that would mean that Cybertronians have been keeping beings that feel and think and reason as pets. You yourself would be guilty of practically enslaving another creature. So would we,**_" Ratchet warned. He didn't like the sound of that one bit. Neither did Ironhide, whose optics gave a dangerous sort of flicker at the prospect.

"… _**I know. I already sometimes regret that we removed the humans from their natural environments. I would just feel guiltier. But guilt is better than continuing to do that to them if they are!**_"

Ratchet looked Bumblebee over in appraisal. Then he offered, with a hint of pride in his voice, "_**Yes. It is.**_" With precision and calmness, Ratchet slid the human out of his hands and onto the counter behind him in such a way that the Earthling landed in a standing position next to his mate.

The three ex-Autobots lapsed into silence, all unintentionally watching the humans as if they would, at that very moment, do something irrefutably sentient. It didn't take long before the organics started fidgeting, and Complement leaned over and whined – said? – something to Signal. Signal didn't even look at her but made a funny sort of motion with his shoulders in response.

"_**What do we do? If they really are, I mean, and it's not just my processors playing tricks on me,**_" Bumblebee asked quietly.

Whirring in contemplation, Ratchet offered after a short moment, "_**Keep your optics on them and start trying to gather evidence. I'll contact Optimus – he mentioned suspicions of his own, so maybe he'd have a better idea of what's going on…**_" The medic grew hard-faced and said with a particularly warning tone, "_**Above all else, we keep this quiet. If humans are self-aware, the trade is designed so that no one finds out about it. Whoever's in charge of it can't suspect anyone might be on to them. Primus only knows how they would react.**_"

* * *

Many galaxies away, at roughly the same time, a silver mech moved slowly from scenery of alien, organic foliage to scenery filled with pavement and stone, metal and mortar, glass and wood. Debris. Mere remnants of a former, much more impressive landscape that was artificially constructed: no natural phenomenon could have created a place so drastically different from the environment Jazz had so far been subjected to on Earth.

They were the remains of a city of some sort, Jazz was sure of it. Something must have attacked the settlement of whatever creatures had made this place their home, as the inhabitants were long fled (and the saboteur had his suspicions as to just what type of Earth native had lived there). Slowly, and with much reverence and wariness, he moved further and further into the abandoned city. There was less damage toward the heart of the small establishment, although there wasn't a structure there that went untouched. Fragments of alien markings – a written language, he bet – marred many a display and item.

It all fit together with the strange wireless network that seemed to encase the planet. He and Crosswise had been startled to find a system like that up and running, albeit completely blocked off by Decepticon firewalls and encryptions. Still, the highly trained specialists had been able to sense a sort of… alien origin behind it, odd as it had been at the time. Encoded as it was, the underlying structure of the thing had still had a distinctly non-Cybertronian feel.

Something very sentient and relatively technologically advanced had lived in this city… had lived – still lived – on Earth. And with every step and piece of information – the continued dimensions and sizes of the tattered buildings, the width of the charred pathways (streets?), the sizes and makeup of the mechanical contraptions strewn about that appeared to be means of transportation if the four wheels supporting them were anything to go by – those sinking suspicions as to the identity of this sentient, dominant species strengthened.

Neither Jazz nor Crosswise had seen a human yet. For all of the impressions that the planet was supposedly crawling with them, the mechs had been quite disappointed not to come across one. At first, Jazz had been rather devastated by the fact. Though he'd only come to Earth to see what regulations the businessmechs were violating, he'd really been looking forward to coming across a human in its natural environment and seeing how they behaved in the wild. Like, would they dare to approach a mech by themselves? Did they travel in groups? Might they be considered predatory on their planet?

Questions had bristled through Jazz's mind, second only to the mission at hand. He had supposed that humans might just be terribly shy and excellent at hiding, and that would explain why he and Crosswise hadn't come across one yet. But this city…

Maybe it was a good thing he hadn't had any run-ins with the trend-setting organics, he now thought. If his hunch was correct, he doubted they'd be pleased to encounter a mech.

He was missing the undeniable evidence just yet, but Jazz had the feeling that the moment he and his team broke through the nasty defenses on that communications network – and it was only a matter of time before they did – he would have all the proof he needed.

/ _**Prime,**_ / Jazz began to record a particularly somber report to be sent to Optimus as he approached a small structure that reeked of decaying organic matter, probably a store of food. /_** You're not gonna believe this… Not one bit.**_ /

* * *

**A.N.**

**Darklight8121 **and **CrystalC** both touched on a wonderful point… Cruel as it may be, you will never find out why Bumblebee got shot. I know, bummer, but I look at it this way – Bee's never gonna be able to find out why, so why should you? (I'm cackling evilly). You get to decide for yourselves whether Swindle had someone in his sights, or if there's just a darker undertone left in this time of 'peace'…

Also, I never mentioned this before (because no one brought it up), but I want to put this out there for anyone curious: I condone writing fan-fanfiction, aka spinoffs. I'm guilty of it myself, although I've never posted any. As long as you credit the story (me and mine), I'm fine with it. It'd probably be interesting to see what people were thinking, too, whether it was posted or not. I, for example, have sent several copies of things I've written to **P.A.W.07**, whose fic 'Promise Not to Tell' I have… er… quite a lot of fan-fanfiction for, suffice to say. … Some 130 pages of mostly femme!BeexRatchet, bare minimal…


	15. Perspectives

**Title: **Property Of

**Rating: **T

**Summary:** During Cybertronian 'peace,' ex-Cons hide the sentience of and sell humans as pets to secure Earth. Sam and Mikaela might just be the first to grasp the reality of the situation alongside their new owner.

**Chapter: **Perspectives

Though I apologized for it in advance, I apologize yet again for the wait. I knew full well it was coming (what with midterms, the trip, the presentation my scholar program needed to develop based on said trip, and all sorts of other things that popped up. Then, after enough time had passed, I had finals and so on and so forth).

That said, I also had an incredibly hard time with this chapter, as I'm doubtless at least some – probably most – of you will be able to tell. I had the ideas in my head, and they just refused to come out properly, and fought every step of the way. I compromised in a lot of places, which saddens me.

But it's finally out, and in time for the holiday season! While there isn't anything festive about this chapter, I hope everyone out there is enjoying their own type of festivities, wherever and whatever they may be.

* * *

Bumblebee knew they were sentient. He _knew _it. Maybe he didn't have all the research or the proof to back it up, and maybe everyone would say it had only been deluded processors that gave him the meritless idea, but Bee just knew that his so-called pets – how would he ever forgive himself for that one? – were creatures capable of thinking and understanding.

… And they were going to hate him.

The yellow ex-Autobot had scarcely wanted to touch Signal or Complement after his waking revelation. When Ratchet was satisfied he'd made a full enough recovery (discounting the follow-up examinations he'd already scheduled) and it came time to return home, Bumblebee had literally paced in front of the counter where the two of them, plus Softspark, sat. The adults ducked their heads down a little, eyes still tracing him, and began mumbling to one another – _what could they possibly be saying,_ thought Bee frantically.

"_**Bee, you still need to get them home, sentient or not,**_" Ratchet had said eventually. "_**They've been fine with you so far; there's no reason for their attitude towards you to change yet.**_"

'Yet,' Ratchet had said unconsciously. Bumblebee could sense the inevitability of the change, though. No matter how long it took, he knew he could decipher their language now that he was aware he should be listening in, paying attention to patterns and repeated sounds. He had scouted many alien worlds before, and had integrated many languages. What was one more? But, as thrilled as he was by the prospect of maybe being able to hold a conversation with Signal or with Complement, he was afraid to discover what choice words they might have for how they'd been treated.

Sure – they had seemed 'fine with him so far' like Ratchet had said, but that was probably only because the mech that caught them told them to. Primus! The trade was practically entirely ex-Decepticon-run. Bumblebee wouldn't be surprised to learn it had been _beaten_ into them or something equally as horrible. All those times they'd let him play with them, or seemed to cuddle with him, or followed after him… they might have just been trying to hide their own fear, trying to make sure he wouldn't hurt them for disobedience.

"_**I'd never hurt you**_," Bee had said softly when he finally reconciled himself enough to present them with the carrier. Signal and then Complement squeezed Softspark in parting, climbed to their two feet, and situated themselves in the carrier without a fuss.

Bumblebee had actually tensed when he closed the carrier door, as though expecting retaliation.

The ex-scout was even more conscientious than usual when he lifted the carrier and cradled it securely in his arms. For a while he simply stood there, peering down at the top of the carrier, undoubtedly making the humans inside more and more concerned.

"_**Can you try to put your thoughts of guilt aside for now? For the humans' sakes, if nothing else,**_" Ratchet had offered. "_**Standing there and lamenting over something that isn't your fault to begin with won't solve anything.**_"

"_**It wasn't you who snatched them off their planet,**_" Ironhide had agreed. Bee heard an angry undertone in it that he was sure was directed at the mechs who had caught and owned Softspark previously. Ironhide had frequently expressed irritation that so young a creature had been taken, caretakers potentially killed, and left to the mercies of mechs.

They were right, of course, Bee accepted. He needed to be focused on observing them for more evidence now, not sulking about and unwittingly fueling the corrupt system. Even if the humans downright despised him afterwards, right now they needed his help. He was not going to let them down!

So Bumblebee left after that, walking as quickly as he could without jostling the carrier. Every passing astrosecond seemed longer than the last, as though he was making his humans spend an eternity in their little cage.

The ex-scout barely prevented himself from falling into another mini-spiral of self-loathing at how easy it was for him to call the humans 'his' – at how horrible it would be to have proof they were a sentient species that the Cybertronian race, including both ex-factions, bought and sold and claimed as property.

Home couldn't be reached fast enough. He let the humans out right after he arrived, not even waiting to close the door. Bumblebee propped the carrier door open, remembered to lock the main door, and moved hesitantly to the side. Fidgeting like a sparkling, he waited for Signal and Complement to crawl out.

They did, eventually. Complement came first, stretching, and Signal after her. Complement's eyes wandered over to him. She watched for a short while before the dark lines of fur framing the top of her eyes slanted downward, the corners of her mouth seeming to tighten. She said something to her mate.

Signal looked over, too. Bee was submitted to the same brief examination before Signal issued a single, barking-like sound.

Bumblebee was taken aback. Was he being addressed? His spark gave a tiny flicker at the idea. The yellow mech wished Signal would repeat himself – maybe he could begin studying the harmonics of that short word or phrase, the first step in being able to understand it and crucial in ultimately being able to speak it – but the human would not, and Bee didn't know how to request it. The only thing that came to mind was holding out his hand and gesturing like he would if something was urgent and he needed them to hurry up what they were saying.

Complement, however, merely lifted one of her eye-lines and turned away, muttering something quietly, more undecipherable than usual. Bee anxiously watched Signal do the same, although he waited longer before moving on.

"_**No, please – I'm trying to help you!**_" Bumblebee called after them. The language barrier had never stopped him from talking to them before, and it had no right doing so now. If anything, the conviction that they _were_ capable of language only supported continued speech with them.

But this, whether because of the abruptness of it or the tone or something else, had something opposite of the intended affect. Signal jumped in place and turned his head back sharply. Complement flinched and spun around. Now they stared at him with wariness, awaiting his next move.

_No, _cursed Bee, _that's no good either. I can't have them any more nervous around me than they already are…_

He would just have to wait until they were somewhat settled again, hard as it might be. Smothering the pair of them wouldn't help matters. If that unexpected address was enough to set them on edge, there was no telling what might happen if he tried anything else yet. Not that he blamed them – they had just been through a horrible cycle, what with the attack, managing to call for help, having to sit idly by as he was under Ratchet's scalpel…

A few cycles should have a good effect on them. Bee decided he would have to give them at least a few cycles to reach their previous norm, and then he could try taking another stab at the problem their mutual lack of understanding of the others' native tongue provided. Until then, he would have to settle for watching their behaviors even more closely.

* * *

To say that Ratchet and Ironhide spent more time than usual observing Softspark and her peculiarities was an understatement. Several cycles had passed since they heard Bumblebee's hypothesis, and while Ironhide had always been a protective keeper, now he scarcely let the alien youngling out of his sight. Whether Softspark noticed and thought anything of the change, however, was another matter entirely.

In his quarters, Ironhide worked brokenly on upgrading a detachable canon that someone had brought to him. Since he was only taking pieces of the outer shell off to gain access to the internal mechanisms, he thought it was safe enough work to be done in his quarters – with Softspark playing on the floor. Between each plate and screw removed, Ironhide stole glances at the chattering youngling.

He had taken to recording those sound-bites and filing them away to review on his own and to share with Ratchet when the other mech wasn't around to make recordings of his own. One of the first things Ironhide had wanted to do was attempt to repeat distinguishable phrases back to the youngling to see if she responded, but Ratchet had advised against repeating phrases that he didn't understand. Alien languages were just that: sometimes, an improper stress of one word taken out of context could change the entire meaning of something, or the distortion of a sound turn a benign statement into something insulting, hateful, or frightening.

It had happened before, and Blaster – the mech who had been affected most by the misunderstanding – had been keen to bring it up whenever a conversation began to lean towards linguistics or alien culture in the slightest. Ratchet had in turn reminded Ironhide of the potential dangers of blindly using a language he didn't understand, especially with a species that was bound to already have grudges against their kind.

So Ironhide refrained, and limited himself to listening intently whenever the strange, distinctly organic sounds began to permeate his audios. While he was by no means trained in acoustics in any way, shape, or form, the weapons specialist was sure Softspark alternated between several different vocal intonations, each distinct from one other while still carrying her underlying voice. It was almost as though she channeled different personalities, or was trying to imitate others' voices… Maybe it was another insight into the functioning of their species – who knew? The only correlation he – or Ratchet, after they had discussed the peculiar phenomenon – had found was that she tended to switch between the tones more rapidly when playing with her toys. Generally, as the number of toys in front of her increased, so too did the number of tones.

It was incredibly puzzling behavior, that was for sure, and she was exhibiting it now.

Softspark had three of her five toy balls at her feet, the other two rolled off to the side and caught up in her bedding. She was sitting down, but leaning so far forward over the collection of playthings that Ironhide wondered how she didn't topple over. Amazing balancing skills aside, the human youngling was holding onto one of the balls and whispering something. She reached out and grabbed another, and her voice grew louder and deeper, and she brought the second ball very near to the first. Then she spoke more normally, and grabbed the third ball, placing this in front of the first two to make a disconnected triangle.

For a while she played only with those three. Ironhide removed the last panel of the weapon's outer components at almost the same time that the youngling stood up and pranced over to her bedding.

"_**Tired already, youngling?**_" asked Ironhide. He watched confusedly as the earthling rummaged through the folds and fished out only one of the remaining toy balls. She held this one up high and adopted a new voice, deeper still. Concern for her spiked once he heard the exact sounds she was making.

Her voice was unlike any of the recordings he had of her. Her normal sounds were strung together in a fluid manner, even though Ironhide thought the sounds themselves were sometimes sharp in their execution. Now the noises were rough – distorted… sounding like they had no right trying to come out of her organic vocal systems…

… sounding almost Cybertronian in their pattern.

Ironhide lay the weapon he was working on down. Slowly, he moved off his berth, ready to coax her into his hands and bring her to Ratchet.

Softspark continued to hold the fourth ball high and hurried back to her original collection of three. She picked up the third ball and returned to her natural voice, then bobbed the fourth ball up and down and sunk back into the unnatural, Cybertronian-esque sounds (he could not call it Cybertronian even if that was what she was trying for, because none of it was recognizable and probably could never become recognizable since Softspark was only organic). Ironhide dropped closer, worry mixed with curiosity. He didn't know if she was sick or injured, or if she really might be trying to mimic the language she'd heard from mechs.

"_**Softspark, what are you doing?**_" he murmured, staring the whole scene down for an explanation.

The human tilted her head up at the sound to stare. Her little blue eyes roamed over him, and the black mech began to feel apprehensive. Then Softspark held the fourth ball up to him.

Mech and human stared at one another.

Softspark began talking again, once more in her natural voice. She shook the fourth ball and raised it ever higher towards him.

"_**What is it?**_" asked Ironhide, getting down onto his knees and supporting himself with one hand.

The human bobbed her head a fraction, like a nod. For a second she teetered dangerously – Ironhide moved his hand, ready to catch her – but she steadied soon enough, and shook the ball again. She kept mumbling and showcasing the ball. Ironhide blinked at her once, and then focused on the proffered object. Feeling a tad stupid, he moved his hand toward hers in increments; she didn't back down. Even as three of his fingers closed in around her tiny hand, Softspark didn't back down. She did, however, bare her teeth for a second before reclaiming her hand once the plaything was transferred.

Ironhide was left staring at the youngling. She crouched over and picked up the third ball and one of the others. "_**What am I supposed to do with this, 'Spark? I don't play with these like you do.**_"

His speaking seemed to please her, and she held up her other balls. Ironhide hesitated and then motioned to take them, too – assuming she wanted him to try and play along – only to have Softspark yank her hands back in and yelp at him, much like she had when Bumblebee used his humans to calm her down.

"_**What has gotten into you?**_" mumbled Ironhide, looking her over. He straightened his hand out and let the small, spare ball-joint roll into his palm until it stilled in the crease between two plates. "_**Let's see what the doctor thinks, little one.**_" Ironhide laid his hand on the ground invitingly. Softspark glanced at the appendage and uttered a minute exhale. Two steps towards the hand and she paused, spinning back to the remaining ball, scooping it carefully up, and then rushing back onto the hand where she dropped all three next to the one she'd given to him.

Once she was still, Ironhide pushed himself up and climbed to his feet. Softspark cradled to his chassis, he left the room, locked it out of habit, and went straight to the medical bay.

Ratchet was caught up in one of his medical files when Ironhide walked in. The weapons specialist hit the doorframe with his free hand and called out, "_**Ratchet – wanna give your 'expert' opinion on something?**_"

The medic looked up and around with a blink. "_**On what? Aren't you supposed to be modifying a weapon right now?**_" For an answer, Ironhide lifted Softspark up. Ratchet perked. "_**Oh. What's she done now?**_" He indicated one of the medical tables, so Ironhide moved into the room and place her and the four toy balls onto the table.

"_**She was playing again, going through those tones of hers… but I swear one of 'em sounded like it coulda been a distortion of Cybertronian.**_" Ratchet studied the youngling incredulously. "_**Well, it definitely didn't sound like the stuff she's normally saying. Only thing I could liken it to is Cybertronian, but I don't know if that's what she was aimin' at,**_" he admitted.

"_**Under what circumstances?**_" asked Ratchet.

Ironhide shrugged. "_**I don't know. Out of nowhere, she started making these… noises… while she was playing. She gave me one of the toys, and didn't want me touching the others – no clue why,**_" he explained, reaching out and tapping the miniscule ball Softspark had given him, steering clear of the others just in case. Softspark talked to herself while watching his arm.

Although a breem went by and they patiently waited, Softspark didn't make the noises again. Ironhide made a quick data transfer so Ratchet would know what he was talking about, and the medic admitted that there was a rudimentary resemblance to Cybertronian, weak as it was.

"_**I couldn't tell you why,**_" Ratchet prefaced, eyeing the likely-sentient organic with interest, "_**but I wouldn't be surprised to learn she was trying to mimic what she's hearing. Whether or not it's a conscious decision, youth are always impressionable. In the absence of contact with her own kind, she's bound to model off of someone… Maybe that's what her different tones are!**_" he said in a moment of enlightenment.

"_**But those all still sound like the same stuff Signal and Complement are always-**_"

"_**No, I don't mean imitations of us,**_" Ratchet shook his head. "_**I mean imitations of other humans she must have had contact with in her past, probably on Earth – maybe just Bee's humans… Maybe the creators she was separated from,**_" was his final, quiet guess.

Ironhide regarded Ratchet in silence before looking back down at Softspark. The young femme was calmly glancing back and forth between them.

Ironhide didn't want to think about the youngling's creators. He wanted to know what had happened to them, that much was true: whether they had been killed, captured, simply separated, and whether they themselves were sitting in some other mech's home right now, or wandering around Earth still looking for or mourning over their lost offspring. As much as he cared about Softspark, Ironhide knew the femmeling's creators would have made better, more apt caretakers for her.

All of that was bad enough when he'd thought her nothing more than an adorably helpless organic. If she was sentient, that offered up a whole new level of psychological turmoil and trauma, and meant that – very possibly – there was a pair of organics emotionally lamenting light years away. Ironhide knew he'd never forgive a species that had taken a sparkling away from him. The only way he and Chromia would ever stop searching or rampaging if they had a sparkling who was captured would be once they were offlined.

Once they could communicate properly, Ironhide knew he would be obligated to try and find Softspark's creators. Unlike Bumblebee, he knew innately that Softspark wouldn't hate him.

Her creators, if they were still alive, on the other hand…

Ironhide sighed at the prospect, and didn't bother answering Ratchet's inquisitive whir. Instead he moved his extended hand and rubbed Softspark's head with a finger.

That was a bridge he'd cross if and when the time came. For now, he still had an organic language to decipher.

* * *

/ _**Is that so?**_ / asked Prowl, listening to Ratchet's tale with intrigue – and what a tale it was.

He waited for Ratchet to finish, greatly interested to learn that Prime had already been contacted. Apparently, something had happened involving at least one delinquent mech, Bumblebee, and the young mech's two humans; something that had led the mech in question to believe humans had a language of their own, and thus sentience. Shortly thereafter, Optimus had been contacted.

Optimus's orders had been for Ratchet to contact him – Prowl – and follow his initial instinct, which was the idea that keeping quiet for now would be best. More interesting had been Prime's additional, quoted response: "_**There will be a resolution; there are already mechs looking into their sentience as we speak. We hope any language barrier will be a non-issue soon enough.**_" Prowl wondered just who 'we' constituted, and what underground operations were being orchestrated as he sat there that very instant.

Underground operations… Prowl smiled ever so faintly. Somehow, he had the illogical conviction – or perhaps strangely logical given the mech's history – that Jazz was somehow involved.

Sentience, hmm? Prowl calmly watched Quirk struggle with his nesting fabric. The human was making low growling sounds as he attempted to get the fabric to conform to his wishes, which seemed to be 'make a decently cushioned resting place to eat in peace.' This miniature battle between organic and cloth lasted a quarter breem. Only when Quirk was satisfied did the human drop into place, extend his legs, strain his arms upwards (a stretch that provided much the same 'loosening up' of components that it did for mechs), and pick up the bag of food he'd dropped to the side in order to better win his fight against the cloth.

Prowl glanced at his computer screen. Blue-green glyphs shone at him, giving an overview of another hiccup in construction diplomacy.

It did not require his immediate attention.

Prowl glanced back at Quirk. The human had already opened the bag and was examining its contents as though something new might have been added. After a moment, Prowl let his optics settle on the comfortable alien.

The human male selected his carbohydrate (an organic energy source) enriched portion first. Methodically, this was all broken down into pieces and then eaten quite quickly. That was, with the exception of a piece that the male set aside, almost as though considering hording it – a habit Prowl had witnessed before, and suspected had something to do with the periods of neglect Quirk had suffered previously. However, Quirk thought better of that and ate it after a moment.

Next was the protein-filled substance that was of a much more durable nature. This, Quirk had to eat by holding on to one end and noisily biting off the other bit by bit. The process seemed much more trying with this food item, and while Quirk didn't pull the face he made when he ingested something he disliked – Prowl had made diligent notes of what foods caused the reaction and never stocked them again – he didn't seem to be enjoying himself too much.

Finally he moved on to one of two 'fat' rich items, which Quirk had always appeared to enjoy, at least in relativity to the others (perhaps there was a method to the order in which he ate his meal, considered Prowl). The one he selected first was pale reddish and comparatively soft. He took a bite of the more pliable substance.

Quirk seemed to sense the attention he was getting at last, and abruptly so. The jaws stopped their chewing after three awkward motions, Quirk fastened his gaze on the wall before him, and he sat very still for a moment; Prowl wondered with mounting curiosity what the human would do next in response. Making a tiny coughing noise, Quirk turned his head and tilted it back, lining his eyes up with Prowl's optics.

They watched each other in silence. Organic eyes moved jumpily, looking back and forth between each optic. Prowl could not fathom what the earthling might be thinking, if he could truly think.

Then Quirk gave a couple more chewing motions and swallowed his food – an audible action in the silence. A couple astroseconds passed. Prowl finished processing the intricacies of the behaviors and blinked his optics.

The brief shuttering and un-shuttering was all it took to prompt Quirk's facial expression to change. The expressive line of fur over the human's left eye rose while its opposite remained in place. Now, Prowl was confused enough by trying to comprehend what _that_ could possibly mean, so it was easy to understand his utter bafflement when Quirk bared his teeth for just a moment in tandem, and then ceased both actions.

Finally, to top it off, Quirk bent one of his arms out and up, pressed the side of his hand against his forehead, and then sharply pulled the limb away. Afterwards, his head dropped back down and he resumed his eating like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Prowl's optics widened and his systems slowed, rerouting some of their energy to fuel his troubled processors.

Had… had Quirk just _saluted_ him?

Turning his head slightly, so that it seemed he was contemplating his desk, Prowl reviewed the last few moments critically. He tried to imagine that it hadn't been Quirk that had performed the action, but, say, Sideswipe. If the ex-front liner had thought he was being unduly scrutinized, Prowl could easily picture himself on the receiving end of a sarcastic salute. That was assuming the gesture meant the same thing to the human. If it did, it seemed to propose a sense of humor – an underrated example of higher thinking, but evidence nonetheless.

Where on Cybertron had Quirk…?

_No_, thought Prowl, a barely detectable frown forming on his faceplates. That action had nothing to do with Cybertron, nothing to do with the learned behaviors of mechs… he was certain.

Where on _Earth_ had Quirk learned that gesture?

* * *

It was a little more than half an orn since he was gunned down and subsequently repaired, and Bumblebee had yet to find the irrefutable proof he'd been hoping for. He sensed that Signal and Complement were behaving differently, but he couldn't be sure that he wasn't just imagining it now that his focus on them had changed. Even if he wasn't imagining it, he couldn't be certain that the difference wasn't just from their perception that he was regarding them differently.

Whenever they spoke to one another, Bee stopped what he was doing to listen in. But humans were quick learners. The first few times he stopped and gave them his full attention, they, too, stopped. Even afterwards, when Bee had finally resumed what he was doing, they were more hushed. He had had to adapt to them. Now he was not so obvious, and fought the urge to turn and observe by instead simply straining his audios.

Several times he thought he'd picked out a sound or series of sounds that was distinctly repeated – individual words or perhaps common phrases, he immediately surmised. Several of these he was fairly certain he could replicate now with no problem. However, Bumblebee refrained. He had no idea what it was he might be repeating to them, and whether or not it was likely to cause offense out of context.

As much as he wanted to, he could not rush any step of this process. Being the alien on an alien world, trying to assimilate local culture or norms, it might be acceptable. With this situation, the ex-scout didn't think it would be smart at all. That was why when the humans started nesting nearby when he did his deskwork again, he did his best not to pester them.

On this particular cycle, Bee did not turn at all when he heard the two humans enter the room. He did not glance up from his datapad and did not acknowledge them at all when they settled down and began muttering faintly, although his systems burned to investigate.

_What are they talking about?_

Bumblebee – try as he might – couldn't focus on the datapads… which was unfortunate, actually, since he had a meeting to get to in only a quarter joor. His only solace was that he knew no one could blame him. Reading a briefing about terrain properties, or bridging a language gap with an alien species? The ex-Autobot didn't really think there was a choice there.

Bumblebee was a diligent worker, however. Though they only kept a fraction of his attention, he continued to try and complete his task, reading through screen after screen and analyzing the statistics himself before looking at the briefing's own analyses. Every so often he made a note or a correction that he planned on bringing up at the meeting. He completed one datapad, then swapped in another. This one focused more on building materials compatible with the land, and required notes in the same areas.

All the while the humans' voices continued to nag at his audios. It wasn't unlike Signal's gaze, Bumblebee mused idly. There had been something in Signal's eyes the first time he'd seen him, and it hadn't gone away – same with Complement. Now he wondered if that 'something' had been the subtle touch of sentience and comprehension.

Bee let his systems sigh. Bored, his optics wandered over the screen, taking in the shimmering glyphs and not even registering them.

"_**I'm sure the humans could write something more interesting,**_" he mumbled to himself, quietly enough that he doubted either human had heard him at all.

There was a period of about four astroseconds when nothing happened. Bee simply slumped down a tad, resting his head on a hand and briefly shuttering his optics, happy to merely listen to the muffled Earthen tongue behind him.

Then he had a mental slap delivered to his faceplates. The ex-scout squeaked in surprise, sitting up sharply. He ruined his previous efforts to keep the humans calm by spinning rapidly in his seat, staring at Signal and Complement. They were lying next to each other again, and appeared to have been holding their limbs out, but they dropped their arms very quickly the moment he rotated.

Mentally cursing himself, Bumblebee spun back around and splayed a hand on his desktop for a moment.

They _might_ have written something more interesting, frag it – the datapad he'd let them play with, where they'd filled up a few different screens with things! Those odd symbols organized in methodical lines… He had written them off as meaningless because he'd been led to believe the organics had no higher thinking skills in them whatsoever. Despite appearances, Bee had felt it couldn't possibly be a written language.

That had to be exactly what it was.

He didn't know why he hadn't thought of it before! Bumblebee reached down and yanked a drawer open. He tore through his collection of datapads, grasping the one stored at the very bottom of the pile and pulling it out of the drawer. After taking a second to silently berate himself for not making the connection sooner, Bee turned it on and his optics raced over the green symbols that lit up the screen. He was drawn at first to the doodles – like the off-circle with two dots and a semi-circle inside – and he tried to process them: might it be some sort of schematic, or maybe a face? It sort of bore a simplistic resemblance to a human's face. Might the tinier figures, by the same reasoning, be incredibly, unnaturally skinny humans? All four limbs were accounted for in the line segments drawn off the main vertical line segment, and couldn't the off-circle on top (a miniature version of the larger circle) be the human's own head? Maybe they were even renderings of Signal and Complement's family, or a human deity!

Did they have a deity? Just another thing Bumblebee couldn't wait to find out.

The objects of true interest, however, were the repetitive symbols scrawled linearly in various places. Certain symbols were definitely distinguishable… phonemes, maybe, or an alphabet. He counted… approximately 20 symbols on this screen, fewer depending on how important subtle differences in symbol construction were in affecting their meaning.

Bumblebee stood up, cradling the tablet, and walked over to Signal and Complement's resting place. He flipped through a couple other screens even after he stopped nearby them, noting a couple new symbols, unconsciously tallying the frequency of some of them. Unable to contain his hope, he peeked over the top of the datapad at the humans and wondered for a second why they sat up.

The young mech wondered the best way to go about this, but he was clouded by excitement. "_**Primus, if you guys can just tell me what these are… How do I ask you? There has to be a way to communicate without seeming threatening!**_" He blinked at the screen and switched it back to the initial display. He turned the datapad around in his hand and held it out for his humans to better see. "_**Please, **_**please**_**, what do these say? Just… sound it out, give me the sounds…**_" he begged gently, pointing at certain lines of text and shaking the pad slightly to emphasize his point.

Both Complement and Signal were deathly silent. Complement didn't even seem like she wanted to look at the screen he was clearly trying to display; Signal was staring directly at him.

There had to be a way, there just had to. Bumblebee turned the datapad back around and looked over the doodles and methodical symbols. Still thinking, he crouched down to get closer to their level. After all, there was no need to seem any more imposing than he must already look.

He doubted it would work, but Bee added a few glyphs of Cybertronian to form a very short and basic sentence – _my name is Bumblebee_ – in the largest clearing available.

Bee presented the pad again, and pointed at his own writing. "_**See how this says, 'My… name… is… Bumblebee,' right here?**_" the mech carefully sounded out. He repeated himself a couple times, and then pointed over to more of their writings. "_**And this says… sounds like…?**_" Bee ran his finger along the text like he had when reading his statement aloud, and even hummed as a prompting (though he suspected the intention of the hum was lost on them).

Finally, the pair of them really started to look at what they were being shown – Bumblebee could tell because he saw their pupils focusing in on the various parts of the screen. He didn't focus on them long. Bumblebee continued to trail his finger slowly along and underneath the lines, waiting for them to guess his purpose and continuing to explain himself in Cybertronian.

Normally they were at least a little chatty. The sudden silence confused him. Concerned and anxious for communication, Bumblebee looked at them more closely.

Their heart rates were elevated, with their chests rising and falling as though they'd just exercised. Both were up against the wall now, Complement a little more flattened to it than Signal, but clearly both looking like cornered animals.

He was scaring them.

Bumblebee stopped making any noise and drew as far back as his crouching balance would allow. He couldn't possibly apologize comprehensibly to them – and he definitely hadn't meant to cause the reaction – and settled on hesitantly meeting their eyes.

"_**I'm sorry,**_" he whispered at length, looking at the floor instead. "_**I didn't mean to startle you. I should have known better, moving so quickly and… and…**_" Uncertainly, he found Signal and blinked at him. Then he slowly extended his hand back to point at the datapad. "_**You have to be able to tell me what these say… Then we can talk, and I can help you and the other humans…**_"

It was another several astroseconds, and then Complement muttered something, unconsciously shifting closer to Signal; Bumblebee listened with palpable interest. He couldn't tell if they were just talking to one another (probably saying something about the way he was acting), or if she had read off the writing. He warbled his confusion, and pointed questioningly at the text again. If she said the same thing a second time, then it would be safe to assume that was what was written.

It wasn't Complement who spoke next, though. With significant pauses marring his continuity, Signal said something, to which Complement immediately replied in a voice even softer than her previous tone. So soft, it didn't sound like much more than muffled noise.

Whatever it was, it evoked a response from Signal, who turned his head quickly to regard her. He uttered an even shorter response.

Then, much like the first time he'd ever seen them interact, they appeared to have a whole meaningful conversation based solely on body language. Bumblebee was interested to learn how important that was to their communication, and then whether or not the human-like doodles actually contributed something to the interpretation of the accompanying text.

Signal made a funny noise from his throat or chest that wasn't too far off from a misfiring weapons power-up. Then he made a short series of noises, more distinct than anything Bumblebee had overheard before. Signal looked at the datapad as he spoke, then found his optics when he finished. Bee tilted his head to the side, and asked, "_**What?**_"

As though Signal had understood, he pointed at the screen. Bee's optics widened in surprise, and he followed the gesture. Inquiring, he tapped the row of symbols his finger had been on and began to move along it. This time, Signal and Complement both spoke, almost in perfect unison, basically repeating the same sounds Signal had just made, only elongated.

Delighted, Bumblebee had them do this a couple times more, then pointed at another section of text.

They repeated this exercise until they had identified every bit of writing, and Bumblebee had an audio file recorded with each bit to go over later, so that maybe he could match sound to character. After a few of the repetitions he almost tried forming the alien sounds in his vocals to feed the words back, but stopped himself. He didn't want to risk a setback yet.

Almost. He was almost there, almost ready to try repeating select sounds. Maybe once he got back from the meeting?

That stupid meeting! Bumblebee sagged, unhappily noting that the quarter joor was nearly up, having disappeared somewhere between the lagging paperwork and the first steps toward communication with the humans.

"_**Later, I promise. I can't thank you enough,**_" Bee said, standing slowly and backing away, trying to convey every bit of respect and thankfulness he felt, all the while knowing that even that would never be enough.

Bumblebee withdrew to his desk and placed the humans' datapad neatly at one corner for quick access. He gathered up the work-related datapads and organized them into his subspace.

Once he was sure he had everything together, he made for the door. Even as he closed it, Signal and Complement were eyeing him.

Bee gave them a farewell wave and then left. He checked three different times that they were locked in safely.

* * *

Yellow being healthy again was something that neither Sam nor Mikaela could properly express their feelings about. They were both happy about that, to simplify it a _lot_. They knew they were lucky to have been purchased by so thoughtful a mech, and after finding out what had happened to Miles, didn't feel like they had the right to complain. Sure, they were still thought of as domestic animals, but they led fairly content lives nonetheless.

But they had been reminded of the absurdity of their position. As they sat there watching Yellow's friends fix him up like he was nothing more than an exceedingly complex machine – like The Doctor was a skilled mechanic under the hood of a seemingly busted-beyond-repair car, Mikaela had recalled with disbelief – they had been reminded of just how different they were from one another, and how different this world was from theirs.

Then Yellow had been so odd afterwards, pacing around and putting both teens and Annabelle on edge. He'd continued to freak out when they returned home, and it hadn't stopped there.

The first few days had been rough. Between their awkward not-quite-sulking and reminiscing, and Yellow's new behavior around them, they didn't like venturing very far from underneath his berth. This 'new behavior' wasn't anything directly bad, but still… the staring was unnerving, and the growing hesitancy he displayed around them made them double-guess themselves.

Eventually, Sam put his foot down (once Mikaela was by his side, that was) and made it clear that they couldn't become human dust bunnies that avoided mechs again. They resumed their normal routines to the best of their ability, Yellow's new penchant for studying them be damned.

It turned out to be a good call, because after a couple days of them trying their hardest to speak so quietly that Yellow wouldn't turn around the second he heard them, or not speaking at all in some instances, and avoiding touching one another to keep the mech from staring, he left them alone again. Too alone, even. Sometimes it was like he was actively trying to stay out of their way yet pay attention to them at the exact same time – much like he had acted after he'd yelled at them about the blue stuff they weren't supposed to go near.

"Maybe something got knocked loose in there," Sam had wondered with a half-hearted shrug.

"Could've been reprogrammed for all we know," Mikaela had begrudgingly admitted, hoping that that wasn't the case.

Yellow, though, acted more and more like his old self with each passing hour. Now, more than a week since the incident, he didn't jump every time he heard their voices or saw them doing something he found odd. There was still something different about him when he did look at them – something Sam couldn't name, and neither could Mikaela, but they knew it was there in his optics – but it was much more manageable.

That was why they were once more comfortable with lounging in their sheets while he worked at his desk. Talking in whispers, Mikaela let Sam take one of her hands in his and hold it out in front of them. They took turns asking each other what they thought their family members were getting up to on Earth while they played with their fingers, one of the first 'intimate' things they'd done in a long time.

"I wonder where they wound up. Do you think they made it to the safe point, or do you think they went to another city?" she questioned, content to let her boyfriend hug her to him.

"They probably got back to the highway and kept going… or maybe they just went back to Tranquility. The mechs obviously got what they came for and left, unless they went back since then," Sam answered honestly. More than once he'd fallen to sleep while thinking about whether or not his house was still there. "But knowing my Dad, I guarantee they're all still together; he wouldn't have let anyone…!"

Sam and Mikaela both snapped their attention to Yellow, who had just exclaimed something. The teens shot each other startled looks, not even trying to cover how surprised they'd been.

Yellow very quickly turned to look at them. Sam dropped Mikaela's hand as though their parents had just walked in on them doing something incriminating, but Yellow turned back around only a couple seconds later. He pulled one of his drawers open in haste. The contents rattled as they struck the side, and then were sorted through. Yellow lifted only one tablet up, and he held the object reverently. The teens could see only the faintest bit of the print from where they were.

"What's up with him?" asked Mikaela, wriggling in discomfort and sitting up.

Before Sam had the chance to answer, Yellow was out of his seat. He was still staring at the tablet – optics shifting left and right, up and down – the entire time he walked towards them in what felt like slow motion. Sam chose not to answer at all and instead pulled himself up to sit against the wall much like Mikaela had.

Yellow stopped less than an arm's length away, and looked at them from over the top of the tablet. He started talking and lowered the tablet for one last contemplative stare. After only a moment, he turned the tablet completely around so that its data screen was facing them. However, Mikaela and Sam didn't give the screen more than a quick glance at first – they were too absorbed in watching Yellow clearly try to speak to them in that mechanic language of the mechs.

Mikaela twitched in a subdued recoil when the mech started to gesticulate. He pointed at the screen and gently shook the tablet, but now, his focus was intensely on them.

Sam inhaled, and couldn't stop himself from looking around to cover his unease.

If Yellow noticed their shakiness – at least at that moment – he didn't show it, and instead briefly turned the screen back to him. He crouched down while still going over the screen, causing Sam and Mikaela to move closer to the wall. By no means were they worried enough to run for cover, even though Yellow was becoming frightening in his own way.

It wasn't that they thought he meant them injury, or had turned on them, but it was obvious that something had happened to him. Some… switch or something had been flipped. They weren't necessarily scared of him, but scared for him. Either way, it was not a feeling the teenagers appreciated.

Their owner rotated the pad of information to face them again, still pointing wildly at it, his voice becoming a little more stressed, causing the humans to start reevaluating their opinions. They looked more closely at the symbols on the screen, and realized suddenly that it was one of the screens he'd let them fill up for fun. Yellow was pointing at the snippets of text they'd dotted the tablet with.

For the first time directed at them, he seemed angry. But why was he angry with them? Yellow was rarely offended by anything they did, and they could not understand why the mech was suddenly up in arms about the drawings they'd done months ago… something he'd openly approved of at the time. It wasn't like they'd written anything bad on there!

Yellow looked back at them after his latest review of the screen, and finally saw the effect he was having on them. The mech grew very quiet, and his entire body leaned back as if physically pushed. All three stared at one another awkwardly, not knowing how to progress.

Optics downcast, Yellow spoke again, much more softly. He waited a little longer before looking back at them and pointing at the screen again. He maintained his backwards tilt and didn't let his voice increase too much this time.

"Why doesn't he just ask us?" whispered Mikaela once she was comfortable enough to speak, voice wavering. "If he's so upset, why doesn't he just tell us what the problem is? He's never done anything like this before…" Then again, Yellow had also never spoken to them in English before, so that hope was likely futile. It was clear that with every passing moment, Yellow was unsettling her more and more, in spite of his efforts. Her mind was reeling for answers, wondering if the attack and repairs from days ago really _had_ done something to him.

Sam kept tilting his head uncertainly, looking between his girlfriend and his owner. Yellow himself had recoiled, albeit slightly, at their own reactions. The mech warbled for a moment, and ultimately continued to point at the various writing. _I like glowing; I hope this thing isn't radioactive,_ one of them said; Sam could just make it out. _No sacrifice, no victory,_ said another. Sam couldn't see it from here, but he remembered writing it while thinking of his dad. He could also see the 'lengthy' piece where Mikaela had transcribed a poem.

After some more helpless staring, a light bulb started flickering in Sam's head.

"I, uh… I don't think he's upset, actually…" The light continued to flicker, struggling for survival. "Wouldn't it be more obvious if he was upset?" As he thought out loud, Yellow watched him intently. "It sorta looks like he wants…"

"… wants to know what that is, what it says," finished Mikaela in stunned quiet.

Sam looked to her sharply. "Yeah. That's it."

They exchanged amazed looks – at both their own cleverness and then at the randomness of the situation – before looking back at Yellow simultaneously. Sadly, the cleverness only went so far. Beyond translating aloud the things that were written, the teenagers were at a loss as to how to give Yellow what he clearly wanted. While he was very interested in them when they looked right at him while reciting the words, and at one point looked as though he wanted to say something but thought better of it, Yellow eventually gave up with a distinctly disappointed sag of his body.

Shortly after, Yellow departed for some errand or another. They suspected that was part of the reason he'd given up so soon.

Sam and Mikaela were still stunned, rooted to their original spots. Each shook his or her head in disbelief and puzzled over what had just happened.

That tablet of doodles and writing was made months ago now. Yellow had watched them make many like it while he spoke absentmindedly to them or purred or worked on something of his own. Never once had he indicated any irregular interest in that particular pastime of theirs. And now, all of a sudden, he was trying to get them to explain everything they'd done, like he hadn't been able to understand it this whole time?

Sam reached the same conclusion Mikaela did after a while, as extraordinary as it seemed.

Was it possible that Yellow _didn't_ know English? That it wasn't that he chose not to speak to them for the sake of domestication, but that he honestly didn't know how to communicate in a language they understood? The only reason Sam could think of as to why Yellow wouldn't know English was that the mech considered it beneath him – but that simply didn't fit. Yellow had always at least appeared to care about them, love them even, and certainly was one of the most respectful pet owners either had ever met. The same went with his friends. Why no one ever said so much as a word around them in any recognizable Earth dialect – despite seeming to be just fine with humans – had always quietly puzzled the teens.

Precisely what the hell was going on with these aliens?

* * *

**A.N.**

By the way, in case you didn't follow, Annabelle's 'different vocal intonations' are the different voices she's giving her toys when she role-plays with them. She was indeed making her best imitation of Cybertronian, because the first three balls were her and her parents, the fourth ball was supposed to be Ironhide. I'll wave at **Coldpaws** for this, because while I'd always toyed with the idea of 'how would a human sound trying to mimic mechs,' it was her review that prompted me to work it in.

Finally, finally, _finally_ I can say good-bye to the vast majority of this chapter! Maybe one day I'll revisit it and edit here and there, maybe. I loved the idea of it for as long as I can remember having it, but the actual writing of it… Not so much fun. I pray to all forms of the divine everywhere that the next chapter takes much less time to write and isn't so difficult. It shouldn't be, considering I already have a general plan for it, know precisely how it should be ending, and am on winter break between semesters. But then again, sometimes_ breaking walls_ and _building bridges _can take significant time and effort…

Until then, thanks for reading, and extra thanks for those who take the time to leave a review or message (especially those who take the time to 'catalog' typos, like **PyroDea**). To borrow a fandom cliché, you guys light my darkest hour!


	16. Breaking Walls, Building Bridges

**Title:** Property Of

**Rating: **T

**Summary:** During Cybertronian 'peace,' ex-Cons hide the sentience of and sell humans as pets to secure Earth. Sam and Mikaela might just be the first to grasp the reality of the situation alongside their new owner.

**Chapter: **Breaking Walls, Building Bridges

This was meant to be out earlier, but hey – at least it wasn't anywhere near the length of the last update wait! Sadly, I go back to school soon so I'm not gonna make any estimates on wait time between this and the next chapter.

Humble acknowledgement goes out to all reviewers; it makes me feel so much better, no matter what my initial mood was, to know that people are out there enjoying something I've written. Many thanks for taking the time to submit a review/message.

Crazy-huge shout out, mental hug, and digitized plate of cookies to **PyroDea** for a rather meticulous cataloguing of typos from previous chapters. Typos must be found and destroyed – thank you for answering the call to grammatical arms! Everyone is invited to join the fight!

* * *

/ _**Commander, you have a filtered transmission from Earth,**_ / a signal interrupted a mech who was hard at work analyzing what he had of an incomplete set of data on energy readings.

Uttering a prolonged grinding of gears, Starscream leaned away from his array of data-streaming screens. He accepted the rerouted transmission and was utterly irritated to learn who was on the sending end.

/ _**Barricade! Why didn't you contact me directly? There was no need to filter through an outside connection, let alone through Mindwipe, **_/ transmitted Starscream bitterly.

The sarcastic gestures on the Earth-based side were practically tangible. / _**It raises fewer suspicions in the long run and subdues any that exist, as a matter of fact. Besides, I feel you'll need to leak this information eventually. **_/

/ _**And what information is so crucial that it will need to be leaked? **_/ the rogue Decepticon asked, working to stay calm.

/ _**Frenzy discovered it earlier this joor; Blackout confirms. The human affiliation that holds Megatron captive seems to have records about a human pertinent in discovering him. We've done so great a job dismantling and scrambling all the most important networks we could get at, however, that it's been incredibly difficult to track even this down, **_/ Barricade explained. / _**Perhaps we should have been less hasty in dismantling their operational cruxes.**_ /

Starscream ground several gears again and stretched the joints of his wings, refusing to rise to the challenge about his previous orders. / _**Wonderful, Barricade, just fabulous. What, Primus tell, is the significance of one fleshling insect over another? **_/ If this was another waste of his time…

/ _**All that has been fully recovered so far is an image file, depicting the human, and what we have deciphered of related information indicates he was mentally unstable. The specimen was male, advanced in age, and – most notably – wore corrective optical lenses, if the image is to be trusted… **_/

/_** I don't have all cycle, **_/ groused the unofficial Decepticon leader.

Again, the sarcasm and subtle insubordination were near-tangible over the line. / _**It appears humans oftentimes enjoy altering or falsifying pictorial backdrops. The recovered image of this male involves one such backdrop: a mesh of Cybertronian symbols, Starscream. **_/

Finally, the Seeker's wandering attention was piqued. /_** Cybertronian? How would a human ever come across it? I highly doubt someone went there and taught them out of charity, **_/ Starscream mused.

/ _**As do I. What isn't as unlikely is an accidental transference from Megatron during discovery. **_/

Neither said anything. Barricade let all the implications sink into his superior's processors – the same list of possibilities that had run through his, and through Blackout's. There were several different ways information could be transferred between Cybertronians and non Cybertronians, fewer between the former and organics. Of those, most involved the Cybertronian party to be conscious. When consciousness wasn't a factor, only a select number of methods could have resulted in an organic learning or discovering Cybertronian text from Megatron.

Normally the most probable would be seeing symbols engraved on a mech's frame and remembering them, but Starscream doubted the fleshlings' capacity to recall such detail, and last he checked Megatron had removed all his markings. Another method involved complex processor tapping, but Starscream was fairly certain the humans hadn't even had the technology to properly perform that when their planet had been invaded. One involved technological parasitism to force an integration of other programs containing the glyphs; the same technology problem seemed to rule this option out. The final method involved activation – intentional or accidental – of a system, one that involved the very glyphs seen, and that transmitted its information in a way that the organic could receive.

Of the last and seemingly only plausible option, a few more subdivisions were possible. However, Starscream recognized the symbols as easily as Barricade and Blackout must have: 'location,' 'velocity,' 'hemisphere,' 'relative,' 'pole,' and similar, with a grand total of about twelve easily distinguishable characters and a few not as distinguishable ones.

They dealt with navigation.

Starscream's optics narrowed automatically, his mind reeling at the implications. He reviewed the data.

A supposedly mentally unhinged human juxtaposed with clearly Cybertronian writings. The writings pointed toward navigation systems as their originator. Megatron's navigation systems had to have been trained on the Allspark… the Allspark must be there. At least one human had to have activated the system to be bestowed with such knowledge, and the singling out of this human suggested it was this individual (which might explain his potential insanity). Humans received all visual stimuli – as far as he knew – through their eyes. However, if the particular human wore corrective optical lenses, there was another film through which the data must have passed before being received by the human and appearing, reproduced, here.

Very probably, the transference of information had left a residual imprint on the lenses.

/ _**Are his corrective lenses still intact somewhere? **_/ demanded Starscream, unconsciously hitting his impromptu desk, threatening the inconsequential piece of furniture should Barricade answer in the negative.

/ _**We're investigating that. As mentioned, we're trying to pull together all related data, but we've made a wonderful mess of their important systems. A mess, may I remind, that was not meant to be repaired after a point, **_/ came a second indirect accusation. 'If only you had waited longer,' Barricade seemed to scathe nonetheless as far as Starscream was concerned.

Biting back a growl, the ex-Air Commander snapped, / _**Very well. You, Blackout, and Frenzy are to focus on nothing else but this. I want you to report to me **_**directly**_** the moment a new development is made. Learn what you can about this human, and whether or not these lenses still exist. Only when it is confirmed that they do will I consider telling anyone else. If I find out you've leaked any bit of this prematurely… **_/

/ _**Yes, sir, **_/ was the final sarcastic response before Barricade dropped out of the transmission.

Starscream stood and paced the room, processors lost deep in thought and enthralled by the possibilities. He stopped next to a wall and placed a hand on it, staring with unseeing optics as he considered the paths toward grandeur that might now materialize before him. The Allspark meant victory, meant supremacy. It insured his future status, the fate of the tattered Decepticons, of Cybertron… It ensured _everything_.

Grinning, he curled his fingers against the Martian rock, leaving scrapes as he went.

This sickeningly organic, backwater planet was turning out to be far more fruitful than he had ever imagined.

* * *

Jazz was rather satisfied with himself at the moment, walking as quietly as his relatively bulky frame would allow through the Earth foliage. His destination was a paved stretch of road only a short distance ahead now, where he'd previously scouted abandoned transportation machines. Truthfully, he was only where he was right now thanks to that black-gray road he had followed out of one ruinous city. A very fortuitous venture, it had turned out, because it had led him to the distant outskirts of a patch of human territory.

He'd heard them long before he'd ever seen them. Jazz had been wandering in search of the source of an unusual spike in network activity (and the beginnings of a hint at a parallel network, unrelated to the one he and his team were already focusing on) when he heard the yelp. The sound had made him spin and whip out his pulse weapon.

Luckily for him the specimen was still a distance off, definitely not in visual range. The very first ruins he discovered made him worry that encounters with humans might not be as wonderful as he'd been hoping on his way en route to the planet. His subsequent observations confirmed as much.

After his initial surprise wore off, Jazz had cautiously approached the source of the noise (and subsequent alien chattering) and discovered a pair of humans in fabric – intentionally designed _clothing_ – that vaguely mimicked the surroundings like primal camouflage. Over the ensuing cycles, he discovered more in the area. Each time, he marked their position on a steadily growing map of the area. Jazz quickly came to the conclusion that these particular humans were forming a guard of some sort, since they seemed to be creating a perimeter around something, though the mech hadn't yet mapped the entire boundary of their territory and their sentry positions changed slightly from time to time (so the boundaries must've been at least a little loose). Even more 'ominous' were the contraptions these humans had with them.

As long as Jazz wasn't much mistaken, the natives were carrying what looked like some type of weapon.

Regardless of the obvious looming hostilities, Jazz had known he would have to get into their territory somehow, and would need to try opening a dialogue with them at some point once it was possible. When questioned, Prime had told him to focus on getting into their midst for now and to leave building the cross-species bridge for later.

Which was part of the reason why, at present, Jazz was finally going to attempt to integrate a new alternate mode to his frame – one that humans might trust and be fooled by if he played things right. To do that, he was backtracking to the road with the abandoned transports. Surely he could find one to match his needs.

The other reason was that he could finally see the possibility of easy communication ahead of him. He wasn't going to use it to explain who and what he was, or why he was there, but he thought it would be fundamental in getting into whatever settlement or stronghold the human sentries were guarding. After the initial contact, he wouldn't have to say a single word in order to sit back and tap their information.

The silver-black mech counted down the astroseconds until the scheduled communication with Optimus would arrive. Prime was going to love the news he had this time around…

No sooner had his chronometer switched to the appropriate time did the buzz of an incoming transmission hit his processors. Jazz opened the connection, itching to reveal the greatest advance they'd made yet.

/ _**Any news, Jazz?**_ / Prime asked, respectful as ever – but it was hard to miss the hopeful undertone.

/ _**Some,**_ / teased Jazz, reveling in the feel of the impending revelation. / _**…We broke the code, Prime,**_ / Jazz transmitted as he snuck from the tree line and onto the expanse of pavement lined with abandoned vehicles. He stopped for a moment, just to let the news sink in for a second time. / _**Crosswise, Firewall and I all pushed through earlier this cycle in a joint, track-covering assault on the final barriers. We've been working on translating the base coding into something understandable since the moment we busted the 'walls; mechs down here had a local network stopped up pretty good, but obviously they were still accessin' it when they wanted. It shouldn't be more 'n a couple joors before we have at least one or two of the native languages translated. Between the amount a' data they got and the work the ex-Cons've already done, we're pretty much there. **_/

Galaxies away, Optimus Prime released a mixed sigh. As his ex-head of special operations navigated a stretch of alien machinery with as much caution and respect as he could muster, Optimus rested his hand on his desk and turned all his contemplation inward. / _**It **_**is **_**the humans', isn't it,**_ / he sent as a stray, almost unintentional thought. Jazz didn't need to answer. / _**Are you now prepared to approach the group you said you were tracking, then?**_ /

Jazz stepped past a large, boxy red transport and spotted a smaller, dented, silver transport a few vehicles ahead of it. The mech approached the new vehicle and circled it seriously, taking scans and observing. / _**I will the moment I got a grasp on the language and get back into their territory. I'm about to scan a planet-specific alt as we speak. I don't think this bunch would let me get close otherwise… I'm jus' glad my hologram inducer is still working, no matter how sketchy – it's bound t' be helpful. I'll see what I can learn from them, too. **_/ Two of the doors on this model were left open, the interior oddly desolate. Overall, it was a sleek ride, and with what was already deciphered from the network, Jazz supposed it was a respectable, desirable model.

He initiated the integration transcan.

/ _**That's excellent news, Jazz. **_/ Prime thought for a moment. / _**When you and your team have the native languages figured out, please notify Perceptor, Prowl, Ratchet, and Bumblebee, as well as myself – immediately. Send them the translation streams. I will have more details for you then. **_/

Jazz laughed aloud while he began to reformat his frame to match the new specifications. / _**Sure thing, Boss-bot. **_/

The transmission ended on that gentle note.

Frame redesigned, Jazz looked back the way he'd come, already knowing how he planned to get the humans to allow him into their secret settlement without getting found out and attacked. He only hoped they'd play their roles well, and not try and dismantle him for spare parts later.

* * *

Not half an orn before the Earth-based team's breakthrough, Prowl tried one last measure in hopes of understanding Quirk's behaviors. Which, he now noticed, were more than merely unusual from a Cybertronian stance. Prowl referenced not only the potential mock-salute, but a number of hand gestures utilized whenever the human spoke, particularly when Quirk seemed to be talking to him. In review, he puzzled over all the implications of the interactions Quirk had had – long ago, it seemed – with Bumblebee's resident Earthlings.

Quirk had not seen a fellow human since then, largely due to Prowl's maintained fear that Quirk might be unpredictable around new humans (more so around the new mechs that came with meeting other humans). However, in light of the mounting evidence towards sentience, Prowl highly doubted anything overtly negative could come of it. Apparently Bumblebee had begun promising steps in communication with Complement and Signal, and Ironhide and Ratchet were making strides with the youngling he'd brought them.

The latter had experience with multiple humans now. Bumblebee brought his over to the Ark somewhat frequently, they had Softspark to monitor, and Ratchet counted at least five other humans that had been brought aboard briefly by his patients or Ironhide's client. More had been observed while working elsewhere.

So it stood to reason that while, out of his immediate contacts, Bumblebee likely had the most specific firsthand knowledge of humans, Ratchet and Ironhide – particularly Ratchet – would have more experience with the differing attributes of multiple of the species. That increased the likelihood that they would have learned something useful in interpreting Quirk's behavior.

That very assumption led to a visit to the Ark: Quirk's first and Prowl's umpteenth. The strategist called ahead for clearance and received enthusiastic approval from Ratchet. Ratchet assured that if Signal was anything to go by, there would be no problem introducing a strange male and strange youngling to one another, and that Ironhide would be on his best behavior (something of a requirement given the mech's recent spike of protectiveness – as though he thought he hadn't been doing a good enough job before). He also gave forewarning that, in all likelihood, Wheeljack would also be visiting at the time Prowl planned.

In turn, Prowl warned that while Quirk had grown rather comfortable around him, he had no true guess as to how the human might respond to strange mechs – let alone two, likely three of them – while in unfamiliar territory.

All of that was going to be put to the test in a few short moments. Prowl glanced repeatedly at Quirk's small carrier on his walk to the ship, particularly as they grew closer. He wondered whether or not Quirk sensed the encroaching encounter, or was unnerved by being back in a carrier. After all, the last time he'd seen the inside of any carrying contraption was when he was retrieved from Bumblebee's home, and before that… Worse, the last time he'd been taken from Prowl's apartment at all was when Leadfoot captured him (and thankfully the mech was now imprisoned for that and other crimes, although, to this cycle, Prowl was unsatisfied with the ex-Con's reasons for breaking in and stealing a human and human-related computer files).

Prowl did not use his command codes to access the ship. He respectfully contacted Ratchet when the time came to inform the medic that he had arrived.

Ratchet answered promptly. / _**I'm finishing up in the med bay, so head there. Ironhide and Wheeljack are doing something in the rec room – I'll let them know you're here. **_/ From where he was, he sent the signal to open the Ark's main entranceway, and Prowl continued the last stretch of his trek.

Curiously, he observed a mild stress response from the human merely by stepping into the new surroundings. Prowl did not devote time to fathoming why that was, although he did file it away for potential review in the future.

The med bay was reached quickly enough (and Prowl allowed a short musing that he was about to ream out Sideswipe or Sunstreaker after they'd done something stupid and injured themselves in the process). Ratchet was there, as promised, sitting at a counter and sorting items before placing them into various drawers or cupboards overhead.

"_**Were those recently in use, or do you have more time on your servos than things to occupy yourself with?**_" asked Prowl in place of one of his usual, formal greetings.

Ratchet turned on his seat. "_**A bit of both, actually,**_" he said without elaboration. "_**That must be Quirk.**_" He gestured subtly at the carrier and Prowl glanced down at it before nodding. "_**Well, bring him over and set him loose on the med table here. I'll be with you in an astrosecond,**_" advised the mech before he turned back to what he was doing. He leaned to his side mid-turn and grabbed the corner of a nearby medical table to pull the thing up behind him.

Prowl crossed the room fluidly. As gently as he could manage, he opened the carrier and tilted it so that Quirk was somewhat forced to climb out. Ratchet only put a couple more items away before he abandoned his task. He took the empty carrier and placed it amongst the assortment on the counter so that nothing could distract him from studying his newest human subject.

"_**Have you ever taken him to a human specialist?**_" Ratchet questioned. Prowl shook his head and admitted that he hadn't. With a slight sigh, Ratchet asked, "_**Is he 'rehabilitated' enough to allow handling?**_"

"_**He should be, yes. He was quite docile with Ultra Magnus and Sideswipe, and never gives me any problems,**_" offered Prowl.

With a comprehending nod, Ratchet carefully reached out for the Earthling. Initially Quirk looked uneasy by the prospect. However, when the CMO slowed and demonstrated his obviously neutral intentions, Quirk resigned himself to being picked up. Ratchet drew the male in closer and began recording the same sort of data he had once taken from both Signal and Complement, as well as Softspark. He gently felt along Quirk's sides with sensitive fingertips, taking measurements and scans. Other than the physical indicators of mounting stress at being handled, Quirk appeared perfectly healthy.

Discounting, perhaps, his seeming inability to look anywhere but at Ratchet's face. From before he was picked up the human had fastened his eyes on the yellowish mech and refused to glance elsewhere.

"_**No ownership tags?**_" Ratchet observed aloud, placing the human down. He could not bring himself to become unnerved by the staring, but he did admit that it was odd. He recalled Signal doing something similar. This time, the human wasn't backing down from the challenge and looking away.

"_**No, he has none. I only began to consider it a necessity after he was stolen. With the recent developments, it may be best if I continue to refrain. Perhaps it's even fortunate that I never had it done before,**_" said Prowl, resting a fingertip soothingly on Quirk's back. The human jumped at the contact but stilled and calmed once he realized who it was trying to comfort him.

Ratchet shrugged. He picked up one of the remaining stray items, and this one just so happened to be a wire needle. Contemplating it as he spoke, Ratchet returned, "_**Ones claiming ownership, yes – I suppose you're right. Something like a tracer could still be beneficial, especially in light of what happened. It was tracers that helped us find Bumble…? Is he okay?**_" Ratchet interrupted himself, giving Prowl's human a critical look.

Quirk had drawn back against not only Prowl's finger, but his hand, and was now grabbing tensely at his own legs. The small chest was moving more quickly, heart rate increased and eyes dilated. Ratchet at first thought it was he who was drawing the sudden reaction. A closer inspection of eye focus, however, indicated that it was the needle, not him, causing the organic's sudden terror.

This development amazed Prowl. "_**I had no idea he didn't like needles… Put that away, won't you?**_" Ratchet did so, and after he was certain the threat was gone, Quirk calmed (although he did continue to eye Ratchet in what Prowl thought was wariness). Prowl continued to watch the human in surprise. How could he have ever known something as harmless as a needle could evoke such a response? That type of instrument was meant only for a mech, anyway.

Further contemplation was stalled for the moment. Ironhide and Wheeljack took that time to walk in.

* * *

Giant, labyrinthine buildings were no friends of Miles. They were fascinating, sure, and this one kept Miles silent and in awe the entire time B-'n-W walked through it – but fascinating was not 'friendly.' He knew from experience that getting discombobulated in a place like this might mean never finding his way back to a safe spot or food source.

Something similar could be said of certain mechs, the teen mused, which was why he was torn on how to respond to the larger-than-B-'n-W, yellowish mech sitting in the room his owner ultimately stopped at. The alien seemed like he was clearing a counter of items when B-'n-W announced himself. The mech turned on his seat to look at them, and Miles breathed a relieved sigh when he saw the mech's optics were blue.

The pair of aliens started talking. They had barely begun when Counter Clearer gestured at him. Miles drew his head back and pointed at himself in disbelief, then wanted to curse when CC blinked at him and narrowed his optics. Regardless, CC gestured them closer, and B-'n-W complied. Soon enough, Miles found himself out of his carrier and on a table CC pulled up near him, the carrier placed on CC's counter, B-'n-W seated at the table, and CC observing him.

Miles knew that if it wasn't for the blue optics, he would have had a much harder time letting the strange mech pick him up and – admittedly gently – investigate him with fingertip pokes and handling of his limbs. CC tired of the investigation fairly quickly and placed him back on the table. He exchanged some more lines with B-'n-W, the latter of whom randomly placed a finger on Miles's back.

Things only began to get really 'interesting' when CC started multitasking. The mech turned back to his namesake counter clearing, but shifted towards them before he'd put away even one more object. He held the thing up on display, and Miles inhaled sharply when he recognized it as an oversized needle.

Miles hated needles. It was a secret weakness he only ever confided in Sam about. Just looking at the huge, nightmarish incarnation of one of his greatest fears sent a shudder down his spine. That wasn't about to be used on _him_, was it? The prospect horrified him. CC hesitantly placed the thing back down and pushed it off to the side at some point; Miles didn't register the removal of the threat until a few seconds after the fact.

Despite the lack of logic behind it, he couldn't help feeling like he'd dodged a bullet. Barely had that sense of relief come before it was gone – smashed to bits by a deeper bout of alien robot native tongue from behind him. Miles crawled over himself, moving into a crouch and hanging onto B-'n-W's hand like a wall in a gunfight. He peeked over the top of it at the source.

The source was a larger-still mech, this one all black, thankfully with blue optics… narrowed blue optics now aimed straight at him. Right next to this black monster was a slightly smaller mech of mostly white, with some mostly gray/slightly blue, and random, eyesore streaks of orange and green (did the aliens know what colorblindness was?). The colorful mech exclaimed something and Miles held himself back in surprise when two fin-like structures framing the mech's face lit up in unison.

B-'n-W began stroking his back in what Miles assumed was comfort, but really was only making the situation feel weirder. It was only then that he saw the little girl smiling and waving at him from the black mech's cupped hands.

The weirdness reached its peak.

The four (holy crap, four!) mechs talked amongst themselves while Miles stared confusedly at the girl. His memories nagged him for a moment – he envisioned them grabbing him by the shirt collar and smacking him. It took a few imagined smacks before it hit him, no pun intended. Well, maybe a little bit intended.

Sam and Mikaela said they knew a little girl who lived in a giant building with two mechs, named… named 'Black' and 'The Doctor.' Miles suspiciously glanced over his shoulder at CC and nodded to himself. Girl, building, Black, and resident Doctor – check, check, check, check. Blue optics on all of them? Check. The only thing he couldn't place was the weird mech with the head flashlights. His mental self promptly delivered a few more slaps and he remembered that they _had_ mentioned a mech named Flashy.

Coincidence? He thought not.

Still a little wary about the three mostly unknowns, Miles comforted himself by acknowledging that they were all Blues, and that it seemed pretty damn likely that these were Yellow's friends that Sam and Mikaela had met with and come away from perfectly unscathed.

Black sounded like he growled. Miles stopped looking at Flashy – who he supposed he could spend all of forever staring at – and eyed Black. The large mech walked forward and drew up to the table. Miles turned around so that his back was pressed against his owner's palm.

"Whatcha doing?" the little girl – Annabelle, was it? – called out as she was brought closer. She started to wiggle in Black's hands, leaning forward towards Miles, and the teen started to worry that she might fall out. Black obviously worried about the same thing, because he shifted his hands and lowered her to the tabletop.

Miles stared. He couldn't find his voice for a while and settled with gawking at the perfectly happy child. Maybe he was okay with B-'n-W, and his friends were okay with Yellow… but how could a tiny kid get so comfortable around so _many_ of the aliens?

"Hello?" she tried again, stepping closer. Miles continued to stare, so he didn't see the confused expressions on each of the mechs at his inactivity. "Hellooo? Can you hear?" she gestured at her ears, curiosity drawing her in as though Miles had developed his own gravitational pull.

Like a monkey in a trance, Miles lifted his left hand and gestured at an ear. Belatedly, he came to his senses and shook his head to snap out of it. "I can hear you fine," he told her, although still confused. "Wasn't expecting to see you is all." The girl smiled. His focus didn't go anywhere else as she came to a stop a few feet in front of him. "Are you Annabelle?"

She stared with wide blue eyes. "You know me?"

Miles shifted around – unconsciously glancing at the assortment of mechs to make sure none were irritated by their speaking, and found that all of the aliens were studying them – before he replied, "My friends do, I don't. Mikaela? Sam?"

"Sam and 'Kaela?" Annabelle repeated excitedly. "They're your friends?"

Miles nodded, muttering a "yeah" under his breath. Annabelle grinned wider, but all expression suddenly slid from her face. The change made Miles suspicious but he didn't say anything. Instead, the blonde did his best to figure out why the kid was now tilting her head back and staring up at B-'n-W. Said mech obviously made something of it, because he spoke to one of his friends.

Annabelle tilted her head curiously to the side and walked up to the hand Miles was sitting against/hiding behind. Tiny fingers splayed out on one of B-'n-W's fingers, and she poked several times. When she looked up at Miles, she had an expression of surprise on her face.

"I know him," declared Annabelle at last, giving a definitive nod.

"Really?" Miles asked interestedly.

Nodding, she said, "Yuh-huh. He bringed me here!"

"Brought," Miles corrected without even thinking about it. She furrowed her brows at him, then sighed in frustration and mumbled something about 'forgetting.' "He brought you here?"

Annabelle nodded enthusiastically and started trying to scale the fingers in front of her. She didn't stir at all when B-'n-W brought up his other hand to spot her, even though Miles turned at the sound of his owner's movement to check what was happening. "I was with one robot, and this robot took me away from him, and gave me to those robots!" she pointed the best she could at Black and The Doctor without losing her grip. Shortly afterwards her palms slipped and she slid back down with the help of B-'n-W. Annabelle settled for turning in place and sitting face to face with Miles, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap. "Does he think he's your daddy, too?"

Nothing happened for a second. Miles turned the question over in his mind. At length, he pointed backwards at B-'n-W and asked, "Does he think he's my _what?_" When all he got was a repeated question (just as awkward sounding as the first time), Miles frowned. "…I certainly hope not. No, he doesn't. Why?"

"Because Black thinks he's my daddy."

"He _what?_" came Miles's incredulous exclamation, sounding oddly like a skipping record.

"That's what Sam and 'Kaela said," explained Annabelle with a shrug. "He's real nice, but I know he's not my real daddy."

Without an adequate response to that, Miles could do nothing more than nod blankly. He supposed he must look like an idiot, sitting there looking empty and without a clue, but he had no idea what to do to break that. He'd spent only a few days out of the last few months with people, and that was with his close friends at Yellow's place. That didn't exactly say much for his social skills at the moment.

What was he supposed to do with a little girl who clearly had no problem with the mechs around her?

Against all odds, the teenager found himself hoping the mechs would step in and save him.

* * *

Although he had his doubts about the sanity of Prowl's human – and how could he not after the stories? – Ironhide brought Softspark over and let her loose on the table at Ratchet's prompting. His approach put Quirk on edge, and the human male pressed himself against the tactician's protective palm. Softspark, on the other hand, seemed enthusiastic about the adult's presence. She nearly climbed out of his hands before he could set her down.

Then there came the standoff.

Softspark made her little calls at Quirk, and he gave no response whatsoever. It was almost like looking at a mech who had shut down. Undeterred, Softspark approached Quirk cautiously and kept trying for a response.

The male eventually caved and answered her, notably without a gesture in her direction. They held their ground for a while more, then Softspark lifted her head and regarded Prowl. The mech returned the favor, taking the time to observe how she'd changed since last he saw her. He wondered aloud whether or not she remembered him at all. Given her state at the time, he doubted it.

"_**He's so much more… indifferent than Bee's humans were,**_" Ironhide noted. "_**Signal was all over her when he saw her,**_" he added, wondering what was wrong with Quirk. Softspark continued her approach and proceeded to climb around on Prowl's hand. Even at that proximity, Quirk made no motion towards the youth.

"_**But you said Signal had his mate with him? Maybe that had something to do with it,**_" chimed Wheeljack.

Ratchet made a soft noise when Softspark settled herself in front of Quirk and the two humans began talking. "_**It just occurred to me that Bumblebee's humans might very well have had prior experience with younglings… they may have had one of their own before they were caught. It's the same with mechs who've had sparklings and mechs that are just seeing them for the first time. That would explain their comfort around her. Quirk may never have had that experience.**_"

It was a valid enough possibility – one they all hoped was wrong, because they didn't want to imagine any more younglings separated from their creators. Bumblebee would hate to learn that about Signal and Complement…

"_**It also might just be the trauma,**_" Prowl offered. "_**It'd be presumptuous on our part to claim to understand how they work psychologically. Primus only knows what they may or may not be discussing right now – it may even be a traumatic trigger for all we know, correct?**_"

With a shrug, Ratchet admitted that that, too, was a possibility. He'd worked with enough traumatized mechs to know that one could _never_ know what might set them off or cause a relapse.

At one point, Softspark scrambled to her feet, mildly startling Quirk with her motion. He called something out to her, but she didn't respond. She headed straight for Ironhide and made grasping motions with her hands.

The black mech crouched to bring her closer to optic-level. "_**What are you after, sparklet?**_" he asked her. Ironhide focused on the exact motions she was making, and realized she was not only grasping at the air, but pretending to roll an imaginary something between her hands: she wanted her toy balls. Ironhide fished briefly into his subspace and withdrew the five things, rolling them from his hand as steadily as he could onto the table before Softspark.

Softspark tried humorously to gather all five up at once, succeeding after a couple tries. She moved in a skipping walk back to the older male and deposited her treasure. The five balls sat there on the table, shining and silent, while the two humans went back to their speech. Abruptly, the youngling rolled one of the balls across the table and Quirk shifted his hand to grasp the thing and pick it up to study it. Softspark bared her teeth at him when he looked back at her.

Not a threatening baring of teeth, every mech present seemed to realize of a sudden, but a… friendly one? They reviewed the scenarios in which they'd seen humans bare teeth, and Ironhide specifically could finally make sense of some interactions. It seemed plausible that it was the equivalent of a smile.

"_**Aw, looks like she wants to share with him,**_" Wheeljack said with a happy panel flickering.

"_**It's the exact opposite of her interactions with Complement and Signal. Unless I'm much mistaken, they were the ones who always tried to initiate things.**_" Ratchet frowned slightly, shaking his head. "_**It'll be great to speak with them, if the capability presents itself. Organics are always fascinating, let alone sentient ones…**_"

Quirk hesitantly waved his hand at Softspark. The young femme perked at his summons, and rolled him two more of her toys. Quirk shifted forward away from Prowl's hand and carefully balanced all three in his two hands. He looked at Softspark and said something, to which she responded favorably, and the male seemed to ready himself.

Silent anticipation claimed each living creature in that medical bay, organic and robotic alike.

Quirk tossed first one, then two of the balls into the air, then the third. He watched their progress astutely, catching the first and re-tossing it, then the second, then the third, and the cycle continued, keeping each aloft in turn. Once his muscles had this task down, he turned 'bared teeth' of his own to Softspark. The youngling gave a shuddering sound – laughter, maybe? – and she crawled in closer, chattering excitedly.

"_**What…?**_" Ironhide murmured, clueless as to how to interpret the bizarre and pointless activity. Wheeljack stepped up behind him, getting as close a look as he dared.

While Quirk nervously began to take notice of his audience, Softspark grabbed the two remaining balls and tried to mimic her elder. Even with the diminished number she couldn't manage to keep both in the air – each failed attempt led to a disappointing clang of a ball hitting the med table surface.

Quirk's form began to wobble dangerously, earning everyone's attention. The male, however, regained himself, and rose to his feet. Softspark mimicked this shortly, and soon after that approached the adult with one of her hands held high with a ball in it.

Ironhide was certain the Earthlings were approaching disaster when the femme got close to Quirk's hands and the projected balls. He nearly reached out to shield her when Quirk rapidly flipped one of his hands at Softspark, but pulled back before hitting her. Softspark was doing her 'possibly laughter' thing, and the ball was gone – Quirk was now keeping four out of five toys in the air.

"_**How intriguing!**_" Wheeljack exclaimed.

A little too loudly, apparently, because Quirk jumped at the vocal intrusion (the especially bright flash of panels might also have contributed) and looked sharply at the engineer. Momentary as the distraction was, it was enough for the male to mis-grab one of the balls so that instead of his hand hitting it back upwards, he sent the ball straight for Prowl. He realized this very quickly, because he cringed and dropped the rest of the balls back onto the table. Softspark covered her mouth with her hands.

The ex-Autobots watched the improperly thrown ball strike a chest plate and then clang back to the table. They tracked it as it rolled across the surface, right past the motionless humans. It would have rolled right off the end if Ratchet didn't lean forward and block it with a flattened hand. Wheeljack winced belatedly and muttered an apology.

"_**Well,**_" began Ratchet, "**that **_**was strange.**_"

"_**I would wager it was a purely entertainment-based activity,**_" Prowl said. Hesitantly, he placed another comforting finger on Quirk's back, hoping to reassure the human that he wasn't upset with him. He was still unsettled by how quickly Quirk had, in his first orn or so with him, acted as though any potential misstep he made would be met with retribution. "_**But not the first I believe I've seen him engage in.**_" Then, he recalled seeing Quirk play another game by throwing a ball into the air once before. "_**He performed something similar upon being introduced to Signal and Complement.**_"

His three ex-comrades blinked at him. "_**Is it a social bonding thing, then?**_" Wheeljack wondered out loud.

Prowl shrugged minutely. "_**Anything is possible.**_"

'Anything' _meant_ anything. It could be a fascinating prop for communication, a cultural pastime, a sacred rite – an interesting show of hierarchical scale, even, but Prowl's instincts still favored 'entertainment or leisure activity.' That provided its own plethora of insinuations about human nature.

An unspoken rule of universal biology was that free time to invent games or the like implied the organism had a niche uniquely outside of the rest of its environment. The vast majority of the time, organisms had nothing on their mind other than survival, be it from the predator's perspective – find nourishment by hunting, find a mate if sexually reproducing, foster the replacement generation – or the prey's – the same set of ingrained necessities, only with the added pressure of evading predators. Those activities consumed all of a creature's time and thoughts, generally leaving neither need nor space for entertainment.

Yet it wasn't a foolproof rule. If an organism developed – either evolutionarily or technologically – to a position where it was easier to meet those ends – the mate, the food, etc. – free time, and therefore 'pointless games', could become possible. In addition, robotic races like their own seemed normally – though not always – exempt.

With their society's cumulative contact with biologic alien species, they had discovered that, more often than not, it was technology that made the separation, not evolutionary development; the latter frequently didn't work at such a pace where the rest of the biotic environment didn't also develop new demanding challenges for the organism. The more advanced the technology, the more significant the separation, and therefore the more complex the activities invented to occupy time could become.

The more advanced the technology, however, the more advanced the sentience, and the more complex the accompanying culture as well.

"_**Other than what we just witnessed,**_" Ratchet pointed out, snapping Prowl from his serious thoughts, "_**I can't say he's done anything drastically different than any of the other humans I've seen. Granted, he might be more vulnerable to temperament changes than the others… Softspark is the only one I've known to go from recluse to outgoing so quickly.**_" He shared a glance with Ironhide, who nodded in confirmation. "_**We assumed that was tied to age with their species. Maybe it's only an indicator of emotional stability.**_"

"_**He's still unused to so many strange mechs in his vicinity, never mind a youngling on top of that. Perhaps when Quirk is more at ease he will display some of his more interesting behaviors,**_" Prowl acknowledged yet simultaneously defended both himself and Quirk's reputation.

Wheeljack took in a fresh batch of air. "_**I can only imagine what sort of emotional turmoil we've created in them.**_"

Emotions started Prowl down another thoughtful path that ultimately indicated just how serious a problem Cybertronian involvement on Earth may have created. What was worse than that, though, was that mechs who definitely meant no ill will – like he and his ex-comrades – were tangled up in this as well, unwittingly creating an even larger and more destructive impact.

Prowl was not renowned for his emotional leanings, that was true. But as he sat there and watched Quirk steadily come out of his momentary terror from thinking he had offended a mech and earned punishment, and saw the way Softspark kept trying to engage the elder of her species – with every single thing he could now think of pointing to their sentience – Prowl couldn't help but feel a special sort of disgust for the first mechs who had gone to Earth and decided this sort of practice would be acceptable.

* * *

The Earthlings' tongue was one of the most fascinating things Bumblebee had stumbled across in a long, long time.

The ex-scout was making his way to a luncheon with a few others who were working on the expansion. Seeing as his division's role was almost over, and they were starting to wrap things up, they'd called for an informal and celebratory meeting to make sure they were all still on the same page. Bee was very proud of his work, and was happy to be attending this unofficial way of marking an upcoming 'job well done,' but he couldn't get his mind off his 'pets.'

He was pretty sure he'd totaled thirty-seven characters so far, ranging from off-circles to parallel lines, and even single dots. Bee knew better than to assume he'd seen all the characters, but he thought it was safe to think these were at least the most common of them.

Even the shapes of the little glyphs enthralled him. They were made of line segments, arcs and distorted arcs, dots, and the best the humans could reproduce of circles. Sometimes only a single component was used, sometimes multiple, oftentimes various of them (like a neat little character constructed of three short, parallel line segments connected at their tops by two arcs, or a vertical line segment with a shorter, perpendicular segment on each end). Compared to Cybertronian glyphs, they weren't very complex at all, yet complex enough that Bee now found himself doodling random combinations of the symbols on his notes.

He was also completely certain now that theirs was a phonetic language – at least this part of it – with each symbol corresponding to a specific sound or one of a limited number of possible sounds (although he didn't know what they were yet, he was sure there were rules determining which sound was called for in those cases). For example, he knew that the symbol that looked like two off-arcs pointed in opposite directions, one on top of the other, made a sort of hissing sound. It was one of the few so far, actually, that sounded like it could be shared between both Earth and Cybertronian dialects.

Bumblebee was almost to the luncheon spot when a long dead personal frequency pinged him. More out of dormant habit than anything, the yellow scout pulled the communication to life instantly.

/ _**Hey there, Bee. Thought for a sec' before calling that ya might not have this frequency anymore, but, here you are! How's it goin'? **_/

/_** … Jazz?**_ / questioned Bumblebee warily, taken aback by the randomness of the communication request as well as the greeting.

/ _**Yeah, it's me. Never answered my question, **_/ his old 'Third in Command' confirmed and pointed out.

/ _**Oh, I'm fine. Confused by the call, but happy to hear you anyway, **_/ confessed Bumblebee. / _**It's been a while.**_ /

Bee could feel Jazz laughing on the other end of the line. /_** That it has. It may seem out of the blue for you, but I got orders from OP to send you something. Stand by for reception, **_/ he requested. Amazing, really, how quickly his digital tone could shift from happily nonchalant to serious. Bumblebee did just what was asked, stepping off of the main street a tad into an inlet between two shops. It took about a full two breems before the transfer was done. The sheer size of it amazed the yellow mech. / _**Did you get the file? **_/ Jazz asked lightly a moment later.

Still surprised by the sudden contact, Bumblebee hesitated before answering, / _**Yes, I've got your transmission. It's really, really encrypted Jazz – like 'Great War' encrypted, **_/ the ex-scout answered. Similar to Jazz, his mental voice slipped right down a spectrum from confusedly happy to confusedly on edge. It _was_ incredibly encrypted. Not just that, but upon second review, the encryptions were distinctly 'Autobot;' Bumblebee was very familiar with them. Who exactly did Jazz think might be trying to intercept this…? Bee looked around nervously, his own recent discoveries prompting a possible answer. /_** …Jazz, where… where are you?**_ /

Amusement was transmitted. / _**Break the firewalls and you'll know. I shouldn't say over a free line, though I doubt we've given anyone reason t' be lookin' just yet. Still. Prime said you were interested in learnin' a little more about your humans, and one of those ought to do the trick, **_/ Jazz flitted around mysteriously.

It was enough for Bumblebee. In a follow up, Ratchet had told him that Optimus said he was already looking into something about the humans. Bee had little doubt now that Jazz was involved with that. / _**Yes, I am,**_ / he answered calmly. Meanwhile, he began to tease the preliminary firewalls to the data transfer.

/ _**Well, I sent the same thing to a few other mechs – you can probably guess – so they should be workin' on it right now, too. I think you're gonna get your wish, Bee, **_/ Jazz told him proudly. Bee continued to flip through the opening encryptions to plan their breakdown. / _**I got more to do on my end, though, so I'll get back to you some other time, huh? **_/

/ _**O-Of course, **_/ said Bumblebee almost dumbly. Assuming this was what he thought – hoped – it was, how could he ever thank him enough? / _**I… thank you, Jazz. **_/

With a hint of laughter, Jazz responded, /_** Oh, it's nothing, kid. Would you say "**_hello_**" to your humans for me, though, if that's the right one – "**_from Jazz_**"? And maybe a sparkfelt "**_sorry_**" while you're at it?**_ / A little more digital laughter, albeit more solemn, and the communication fell dead.

Say _what_ to the humans? Bumblebee clicked curiously as he replayed the very un-Cybertronian words in the transmission. What they did sound like, however, was something he might've heard out of Signal or Complement (there was that hissing sound again!).

Jazz knew a human language.

Bumblebee looked around suspiciously again before starting to delve into the file, sifting through the friendly encryptions as though he'd sunken right back into his wartime role. Suddenly he remembered that he had other things he was supposed to be doing, and standing around doing nothing apparent looked all too conspicuous.

While he continued to systematically dismantle the Autobot-base encryptions, Bumblebee stepped back onto the street. Assuming he worked at sufficient pace, the ex-scout was positive he'd be done integrating the information with time to spare before he returned home. It might even be enough time to review what he was going to say and double check his understanding of it all.

In the very same instant, Bumblebee had never wanted to get home faster or stay away longer. When he got back, he might actually be able to look Signal and Complement in the eye and apologize for anything… and for everything.

* * *

**A.N.s**

Technical point – I'm fully aware English has only 26 letters. Bee's total of 37 characters includes a few punctuation marks, numbers, and capital letters. Remember, he wouldn't know there was no difference between an 'a' and an 'A' (though he might consider 's' and 'S' the same), or that an 'l' was a letter, '!' a punctuation mark, and '1' a number. Also, the two characters he describes are an 'm' and an 'I,' if you didn't figure/draw it out, and the hissing sound he mentions is the 's' sound.

…I just decided that I really like writing from Miles's POV… sometimes it's a wonderful break from seriousness/outright coherency, yet also gives an outlet to explore a different look at the mechs. I missed him in ROTF, and wanted to see more of him in the first. Those few scenes with him made me think, 'obviously very weird, but I'd bet a nice guy and great friend.' Obviously, the writers didn't agree… Oh, canon!Miles – we barely knew you (but how wonderful, though fleeting, it was)!

See you at the next chapter – and more power to you if you deign me/the fic important enough to drop a review my way in the meantime!


	17. Second Impressions

**Title:** Property Of

**Rating: **T

**Summary:** During Cybertronian 'peace,' ex-Cons hide the sentience of and sell humans as pets to secure Earth. Sam and Mikaela might just be the first to grasp the reality of the situation alongside their new owner.

**Chapter: **Second Impressions

The moment you've all been waiting for! I briefly considered having something happen to delay the following scenes, but I'm not that cruel. :P

A serious thanks goes out to **femme4prime**, one of the coauthors of the Dathanna de Gray 'verse (sp? I've seen a couple different spellings), for rec'ing the fic on her livejournal account (femme4jack). She indicated her writing partnership was interested in creating a fan-fanfic for Property Of, involving Hound and Mirage (one of whom should be showing up in the story any time now). You should keep your eye out for both the story and said character.

Oh, and can I just say, it really stinks having 6 college courses that all require high levels of reading, even as far as college courses go? A usual of 20 pages upwards a night in each – not to mention one of them requires a written assignment for each class, another has a serious assignment pretty much once a week (curse you, academic writing course!), and two more have at least 5 major papers of varying length throughout the semester – is just ridiculous. -.- A bitter, bitter 'good-bye' to the tiny bit of time I saved especially for fanfic/original writing (as if that wasn't infringed upon already, right?).

* * *

All the recordings Bumblebee saved of the writings and speech paid off heavily, he knew now. He was able to compare each word, each sound, and each character, finding a language that meaningfully matched up. Jazz had sent five decoded languages (along with a note that there were hundreds and hundreds of others still unsent and un-decoded), and it was easy to determine which was the one Signal and Complement used.

It was fascinating as each character – letters, Bee confirmed, that acted phonetically in this case – took on a limited range of sounds, and the linguistic rules he had assumed existed were revealed one at a time. It was even more fascinating for the letters he had seen the humans string together suddenly begin to take on meaning in their patterns where, to him, there had been no meaning before.

The language Signal and Complement used was called 'English,' and it shared roots with a couple of the other languages he'd integrated – a fact which had confused him for a moment when he began matching them up.

Some of the sound bites he saved from them were translated already, particularly those they'd uttered while he was trying to get them to communicate with him. Most were either still largely unintelligible or expressions of confusion or wariness, which he had already gathered based on their physical gestures. Still, it continued to excite him…

… and build his anxiety.

His mind wandered throughout the rest of the walk to the meeting, the whole meeting itself, and even more on the walk home.

Who would speak to him first? Would they even consider him worthy of answering now? Suppose they were offended to hear a mech speak to them in their language. Would they consider it an insult? Optimistically, maybe they would consider it a great compliment.

He had seen both. On the same planet, even: Noith, a world torn between organic and something not-quite organic. Though it had several sentient species, only one was fully organic. It was these who were awed to hear Cybertronians willing to learn and speak their language. And then, contrastingly, there was the predominant of the energy-organic species, and these generally despised hearing the Cybertronians attempt their native tongue.

Admittedly, those were pretty much extremes, but that didn't mean humans couldn't fit into one of those categories!

Bumblebee was so absorbed in trying to guess how they might respond based on all their previous reactions that he forgot to be hesitant opening the first door to the apartment duplex. The ex-scout made it a few steps closer to his and Beachcomber's apartment before stopping abruptly.

That was right. He didn't need to be making guesses right now, because either way, whatever was going to happen was going to happen. Feeling unusually warm – stress, he assumed – he continued towards his apartment. When he spotted the door, he felt some of his gears tense in preparation.

The unusual warmth continued as Bee entered his passcodes, and he watched the door slide open in slow motion. It remained open for several long astroseconds before Bumblebee had the nerve to walk into his own home. Everything he thought about saying flew out of his mind, probably laughing at him all the while. Stepping into the room, he was an utterly blank mech: the enormity of it hit him with such force, it left nothing there.

Or, it did until he saw Signal sprawled on his back on the center of his beddings, Complement tucked against his side, her head and one of her hands rested over his midsection; he had an arm cradling her protectively.

They were sleeping soundly. Not even his entrance seemed to have wrought a stir out of them.

Bee discovered suddenly that he hadn't cycled air through his systems since he'd stepped foot in the whole building, and that was why his frame was getting warmer. He released the overdue, heated intake as steadily as he could, and took in another cycle.

The ex-scout stood there for a while. He wasn't sure for how long, and he didn't bother checking his chronometer. Regardless, it was exactly what he needed. The more he stared at the content, fragile, unaware forms, the more he calmed. Once more he began to realize that this wasn't necessarily a doomed relationship. He had been so excited about this before… he should still be excited about it now. Bee supposed it wasn't his fault he kept going back and forth between such extreme feelings about the ordeal, but he gratefully took the respite to gather himself.

After he came back to his senses, Bumblebee quietly proceeded into the room. Optics remained trained on the two Earthlings at all times. In this silent way, he sat down backwards on his chair, leaned against the back of it, and studied the pair of them for the first signs of their awakening.

Several times they shifted in their sleep and the mech straightened in preparation, only to have to settle himself again when it proved to be a false alarm. Bumblebee grew to anticipate their waking so greatly that, when Complement finally did stretch herself over Signal and shift in such a way that she actually opened her eyes, he involuntarily took in a whole system full of air.

The shuddering and squeaky sound of it caused the female's attention to shoot immediately onto him. Bee froze when her eyes met his optics. Her motion, combined with the sounds he'd made, caused Signal to shift. The male's whole body lengthened, arms reaching backwards, legs straining, and then suddenly relaxing as brown eyes opened hazily up. Unlike his mate, Signal didn't notice his rapt audience – not until Complement alerted him.

Silent staring (alongside Bee slowly straightening in his chair, anticipation mounting to new heights) made Complement uncomfortable. She began to sit up, and she pushed at Signal with subdued urgency.

When the male looked at her and tiredly asked her, "What is it?" Bee thought he was going to offline from excitement. Then, when she instructed him to "look" in something like a hiss, Bumblebee began to stand up as if they'd summoned him. Signal struggled up into a sitting position and joined the staring, too.

No one said anything, perhaps unconsciously feeling repressed by the unspoken tension. But, both Signal and Complement had already said something, and Bumblebee knew – or rather felt – that it was his turn. It couldn't be any clearer that his attention was scaring them, and he couldn't have that last any longer than it already had.

"So… it _is_ English, then?" the ex-Autobot ventured without a clue about what else to say. Enthusiastic as he was, Bumblebee was unable to keep a bit of uncertainty from his voice, thinking he might be saying it wrong or with the wrong inflection, or doing any number of things that the humans wouldn't respond or respond properly to.

Signal's eyes snapped to a level of alertness Bumblebee didn't think he'd ever witnessed before, made all the more noticeable because the human had been so drowsy only moments earlier. Complement sat up so sharply that she nearly hit the wall behind her. If not for her mate's quick grab at her 'shirt', she might have collided.

"Oh – oh no!" Bee exclaimed hastily, rising all the way. A stab of guilt hit him when the humans tensed even more. Signal was shifting his legs, beginning to curl them up under him, maybe to be able to spring away if need be. The prospect depressed Bumblebee. "Please don't do that, I'm not going to do anything to you, I promise," insisted the mech. He thought that he must sound rather strange, guilt and eagerness both seeping into his plea. The two humans did no more than look at him and continue their uneasy motions. In the silence, he muttered, "English… you speak English…"

For whatever reason, that was the phrase that got a verbal reaction out of them. Signal and Complement exchanged looks.

"…What about it?" Signal asked – Signal asked! – guardedly, or at least that was how Bumblebee interpreted it. Complement angled her head more downward in submissiveness, though her focus on him never shifted. They were understandably wary that a mech was suddenly using an Earth language. Signal took one of Complement's hands in his and she moved back closer to him.

"Is there something wrong with that?" Complement asked then, also guardedly, and more openly worried.

Oh, _Primus_! They were speaking, and… and he could understand them perfectly! Bumblebee's spark skipped in excitement, and his optics lit brighter than they had in quite some time. _The humans were actually talking with him. Even if they were afraid of him, they were talking._

"Not at all, nothing's wrong with it," said Bee, climbing off the chair and taking a very hesitant step closer. He didn't want to crowd them. But, since they did nothing more than tilt their heads further back to keep his face in their sights, he took a few more steps. "It's just, hearing you speak it for the first time…!"

Signal frowned but said nothing. He seemed to debate opening his mouth at all. Eventually, he did, and said, "But we… we speak around you. All the time." By his largely inflectionless tone, Bumblebee surmised the human was trying to avoid sounding accusatory. Was he afraid of punishment? Bee wished they had sparks he could try and soothe.

"I know, that's what got me suspicious," he agreed and assuaged the underlying fear, unintentionally forgetting to explain why it was still, to him, like the first time he'd ever heard them.

"Suspicious? Suspicious of what?" Signal tried, still behaving like he thought the mech might act out.

"That you were sentient. And you _are_ sentient," he told them, happily at first, and then a little more somber. He bent his knees into a crouch to get closer to their level. Not only did he want to seem as close to their equal as possible, but it simply didn't look like it'd be comfortable to hold a neck back like that for an extended period of time. Bumblebee tried not to focus on how alien they looked compared to him, since the difference suddenly seemed all the more obvious.

The two humans glanced again at one another. "Uh… yeah? Of course we are… is that supposed to be surprising?" muttered Signal slowly. His eyebrows furrowed together in a way very familiar to Bumblebee, and that the mech now recognized as a display of confusion or scrutiny.

Then Complement breathily mumbled, "You didn't know that before?" The prospect seemed to distress her, since she stared briefly at the bedding in her disbelief, as if the rest of the world had momentarily faded from her while she tried to grasp the idea.

Bumblebee shook his head. "No. I didn't know. And the mechs I know didn't; not for certain, anyway. We started to suspect, but we never knew." The ex-scout stole himself and took in some air. "I would _never_ have supported this – taken and tagged you as pets – if I had known you were sentient." It was necessary that they knew he would never have kept them if he'd been aware of the truth. He had no idea what he would do if they didn't, or refused, to understand that.

Signal raised a hand hesitantly towards his back after a second, though he never touched. Bee suspected he was remembering the injection of the microchip, which had definitely distressed them at the time. The Autobot winced at the thought that something was imbedded in the pair of them, claiming them as his. He was going to have to disable those…

Complement took on a marginally harsher look. "It took you this long to figure it out, then?"

"I'm sorry," Bee said, automatically. Despite her small size and the undoubtedly subdued bite to her tone (he didn't blame her that she wasn't convinced of his sincerity), it felt like a physical sting to him. "I'm sorry for everything."

More tense silence.

"What made you think that we were? Self-aware, I mean," Complement asked him at length; Signal eyed him. Neither one acknowledged his apology at all, which concerned the mech.

That question had Bumblebee ducking his head in deference – a gesture that made the humans do double-takes, although he didn't see it. "You saved me," he told them simply, gratitude and reminiscence seeping out of his voice. "When we were attacked and I was injured, you could have left me there alone and run away for cover, but you didn't. You," he said, lifting a finger and pointing it at the male, "used my comm link to call Ratchet for me. Unthinking organisms don't tend to do that." He regarded the pair of humans quietly before he admitted to them, "I owe you my life."

For some reason, they looked sheepish.

"Well, you… I mean, it was nothing – least we could do. You got us out of that store-thing way back when, and you've been… really nice to us," Signal told him, looking to Complement for support. The female nodded, and ducked her head to hide her embarrassment. In reality, the idea of a mech being indebted to them was just one strange step too far right now.

It was the first indication that they weren't entirely upset with him, to which the young mech wanted to cling, but Bumblebee found that he had to shake his head in disagreement, optics flashing. He was pleased to find that Signal didn't react negatively to the gestures. "It's not the same. I could have done so much more for you if I had just known you were sentient from the start. I wouldn't have let anyone stay in that store, I wouldn't have tried to keep you as pets, and I would never have tagged you. And," the mech hesitated, "I could have called you by your actual names. What _are_ your names?" All at once, his former curiosity came soaring back, his function's instinct to find out everything about a new situation threatening to overtake him if he wasn't careful.

Straightforward a question as it was, it seemed to baffle the organic pair for a bit. It was a few seconds before they responded.

"Mikaela," Complement told him.

"Sam," said Signal, almost sounding like he was asking a question of his own.

"Mikaela and Sam…" he repeated, going over the names. For some reason, even though they were new to him, they sounded like much better names than Complement and Signal.

Something clearly dawned on Sam, and a smile – faint – worked itself onto his face. "What did you used to call us? Please tell me it wasn't Fluffy One and Fluffy Two."

Bumblebee blinked as he processed the question and abrupt tone change. "Oh. Well, I… I referred to you as Signal, and Mikaela as Complement – with an 'e'," he confided, remembering at the last second that English had homonyms, like the words 'complement' and 'compliment,' so he needed to differentiate. The whole concept of verbal homonyms was another fascinating fact, but beside the current point. He felt the waves of embarrassment sweep over him, and he hoped the names didn't offend them.

"Eh," Mikaela shrugged after quiet contemplation. "I guess those aren't bad. Beat 'Fluffykins' and 'Mr. Cuddles,' either way."

Bee was sure there was a cultural reference there meant to be more comedic than it appeared at face value, because while Sam snorted at it, the ex-Autobot was left lost. They were neither 'fluffy' nor 'cuddly,' so there was no other explanation as to why he would name them that. Another moment of hesitant and uncertain silence passed before Bumblebee dared to press forward.

"I really am sorry. For everything. For someone taking you from your planet, for whatever it was the store did to you, and… and for my stupid roommates terrorizing you half to death!" he recalled all of a sudden. That heated exclamation – tinged with the anger and distaste he'd felt at the time – caused the humans to draw back a fraction.

Mikaela blinked. "Your roommates? Were they purplish and green? The ones that took us those couple of times? Felt me up," she grumbled in a tacked on, lower tone. Bumblebee wasn't certain what was so horrible about being 'felt up' (surely it was another reference, like an idiom; perhaps he should look into it?), especially because he knew he had held – and thus felt her – many times before. He settled for nodding, despite not knowing exactly what he was agreeing to. Without warning, Mikaela sighed and hung her head. "Okay, this is really, _really_ weird. Tell me it's not just me considering the possibility that this is all some freaky and complex dream."

Bumblebee looked at her questioningly, then looked to S…am.

"I don't think it's a dream, 'Kaela," muttered Sam. It took Bumblebee a little while to realize the 'young woman' (not 'female') did not actually think she might be dreaming, and that it was an expression of perceived surrealism.

Respectfully, Bumblebee let them come to terms with the reality of the situation. He was fascinated by the way Sam rubbed his… huh. What was Mikaela to him, exactly? 'Mate' didn't quite work anymore, since there seemed to be an undesired connotation to it in their language. Were they 'married?' Whatever they were, it was interesting to see how he rubbed her hands, tactilely soothing her much like he would have tried to do using energy if they had been other mechs.

They took a few quiet seconds to calm before Sam looked up at him. Bumblebee stayed perfectly still as the human looked him over, seeming to forget that they had been living in the same home for months and months now, and knew perfectly well what the other looked like.

To the side, Bumblebee wondered if they knew just how much time, by Earth's measurements, they'd been away from home. Did they realize how long they had been gone, despite how short it felt to Bumblebee?

"So… I'm willing to bet your name isn't 'Yellow,' is it," Sam said, making an effort to grin.

Bee mimicked their narrow-eyed confusion. "No…?" Then the mech's optics widened. Somehow it had never crossed his processors that they might have bestowed a name on him like he had done to them. "Is that what _you_ called _me_?" he voiced his disbelief.

Mikaela laughed quietly, and raised her face back up. "Observant, aren't we? Not very original, I guess… Sorry…"

What reason had they to be apologizing to him? Bumblebee, sensing a lengthy impending conversation and proper reintroduction, carefully lowered himself to a full sit. "No, it's… wonderful," he assured her – and he wasn't lying. He felt pleased enough to have earned any sort of name, especially such a harmless and hate-less one. "Please, don't apologize to me about anything. It feels so…" Bee dipped his head. "…wrong." It made him feel even worse, that was what it did. If they never apologized to him again, it would be too soon. "It's a wonderful name and I love it."

Bee missed their skeptical shared glance. His attention was reclaimed when Sam tentatively continued, "But that doesn't really change the fact that your name _isn't_ Yellow."

"No, it doesn't, that's true," the ex-Autobot readily agreed. "But there's nothing wrong with that – you couldn't have known."

Mikaela made a funny gesture with her head, and blinked at him expectantly. When Bee only met her with a matching blink, she looked at Sam and pulled a begging face.

Sam raised his eyebrows the tiniest bit. "Uh… are you, you know, gonna tell us what your name really is, then?"

The mech stared. He stared for several long astroseconds, then uttered a self-deprecating series of clicks. Of course that's what they were asking. Rubbing his faceplates in dismay at his stupidity, he was lucky he caught the gentle, muffled laughter from both humans. Bee looked at them, head still leaning in his hand, and failed at hiding a relieved smile at seeing them amused by his reaction. If anything, they tried to look encouraging when they saw his attention on them now.

Faintly, it reminded him of friends laughing at each other's stupid antics.

Giving in to his relief and growing sense of hope, he embraced the smile. "I'm Bumblebee."

* * *

Silver rolly balls were nothing like dolls. This was a simple truth that Annabelle was very much aware of by this point. Still, that didn't stop her from occasionally pretending that they were.

Like now, for instance.

Her dad wasn't silver or even vaguely round. Neither was her mom. Plus, she herself wasn't very round or silver, and was a lot smaller than her parents, and none of them was anywhere near the size of a mech. Seeing as she was limited in people/robot stand-ins, however, she made do with her set of identical balls.

Annabelle had been left to her own devices in Black's room, which was something that she found a little weird at first. He normally didn't leave her alone for any extended period of time.

But that was yet another thing that she got over quickly. She made do by gathering up her toys and assigning them new names: Bad Robot-ball, Annabelle-ball, Mommy-ball, Daddy-ball, and – in a moment of inspiration – Mr. Epps-ball. Her father never went off to fight the robots without Mr. Epps! They were such 'besties,' her mom had whispered to her once. She assumed 'besties' was another word for 'best friends,' which was what her dad said they were.

Annabelle liked Mr. Epps. Sometimes, he was crazier than her own daddy. She wondered why he didn't have kids of his own.

To begin, she put the Bad Robot-ball off to the side, set all the people together, and prepared for a fake showdown of epic proportions.

"Mm! Grilled cheese for lunch, my favorite!" Annabelle-ball said, and Annabelle made appreciative chewing noises. She had each of the other balls nod and thank her mommy-ball for making lunch for them.

Exaggerated chewing noises proved just how tasty the grilled cheese really was. Everyone said how delicious it tasted and how happy they were to be having lunch together, and then they moved on to playing games!

The games – a mixture of about five board games, though Annabelle didn't much know the difference – lasted only a short while, because they were interrupted.

The first interruption was legitimate. Black entered the room with a whoosh of the door and a muffled beeping from its locks. But, since Annabelle only gave him a cursory glance and didn't even bother to care about the unusual look he was giving her, it wasn't that disruption that stopped the games.

"BOOM!" Annabelle bellowed, spinning over to Bad Robot-ball and rolling him around in place. "Boom! Bshew! Aaaaaah!" For a few seconds she was caught up in recreating the sounds of her capture. Actually, it was only Black's concerned approach and crouch that reminded her she had another side to this story!

Annabelle dropped her voice low, indicating distance, and muttered out her family's worried reactions to the alien attack.

Then she returned to her childish gunfire.

"…Youngling?"

Annabelle didn't notice the somewhat recognizable word amidst her own chatter. The overwhelming difference in voice timbre should have given it away, but she went about her scene with deaf ears, spinning completely away from Bad Robot-ball and returning to the 'human' toys.

"Don't worry," said the Mr. Epps-ball.

"We'll get the robot!" exclaimed Dad-ball.

"Be safe! See you at dinner!" answered Mom-ball.

Her parent-balls kissed one another, and then Annabelle rolled her own ball and her mommy-ball away.

Then, suddenly, her imaginary dad and imaginary Mr. Epps were right up in front of the Bad Robot-ball, and she was gearing up to produce a mighty roar from the latter, and then she was surely about to make the best imitation of her daddy's gun possible, and create the most epic fake-battle ever fought while her and her mommy made the most delicious fake-dinner ever made…!

"Youngling, what are you doing?"

She heard it that time. The little girl jerked her head up, surprised eyes falling onto Black. Her mouth hung open.

"Hey!" Annabelle cried, falling forward onto both of her hands and leaning heavily on them. Black hadn't budged from his crouch, but she was pretty sure he was looking at her funny-like. Even now, with her staring at him, she saw him glance at the three toy balls nearest her. "Heeeeeeeey," she repeated in a drawl, giving him a doubtful look. "You talked! You said something!"

The awesome scene she had been so dedicated to was instantly forgotten.

Black dropped lower still, supporting himself with one hand, and offered a small nod. "I did."

"Could you do that all of ever?" she asked, sounding suspicious.

"No," he told her. "I just learned."

Annabelle was still suspicious. "Well, who teached you then?"

Black didn't give her an answer for a second, although she had no idea that it was because her improper conjugation of 'to teach' had thrown him.

"One of my friends," he settled at last. "I have a friend on Earth who learned it for me."

"You have a friend on Earth?" asked Annabelle, concern marring her features. Black nodded. "Uh oh…"

"What's wrong?" Black asked quickly.

"He's a robot, right?"

Though he didn't see the relevance – and also didn't understand how she could think he'd have any _other _type of friend on Earth – the mech nodded. Annabelle shook her head. "You gotta tell him to stay away from my real dad." She waited only a moment before explaining, "My real daddy doesn't like the robots, because the robots are bad. He fights them."

Black regarded her critically. The girl didn't pick up on it, but the mech was rather lost. At the same time that Annabelle was nodding to herself, trying to remember all the things her father used to tell her about staying safe and not wandering off because of the robots, an alien weapons specialist was being thrown for a loop with a bevy of questions: what did she mean, 'her father fought robots'? What did she mean by 'real' father – did she have a fake one somewhere? Why hadn't she also mentioned her mother? Why was she concerned about the safety of one of his friends? Most importantly, why wasn't she acting more shocked by his unexpected ability to speak English with her?

Needless to say, the mech was out of his element.

"Your 'real' father?" he began with.

Annabelle shrugged and said apologetically, trying her hardest not to hurt his feelings, "I know you think _you're_ my dad, but I know you aren't really Daddy. Daddy's my only real daddy."

The mech adopted his critical look again, albeit not before staring at her blankly for several seconds, having trouble interpreting the words simply as they were. "Where did you get that idea?" he questioned softly, voice seeming to conflict with his appearance.

With a second shrug, Annabelle answered, "Well, that's what 'Kaela and Sam told me."

"Who?"

"You know, 'Kaela and Sam?" she repeated herself, baffled. They'd been over several times. Why didn't Black remember them? "Yellow bringed… brought… them here to visit!"

"Yellow…?" Black, for a moment, seemed just as confused by that name, which really didn't make sense to Annabelle, but then his optics brightened. "You must mean Bumblebee. Those must be his humans' actual names," he muttered to himself.

Regardless of his intention to keep the muttering a personal thing, Annabelle overheard. "Bumble…bee? Who's that?"

Black gave her the first semi-smile she'd seen in a long time now. "He's another friend. 'Bumblebee' is 'Yellow's' real name."

This, too, didn't make sense to the girl, at least at first. She scrunched up her face, then bit her cheek in contemplation. "His name isn't really Yellow?" asked Annabelle at length. Black shook his head in agreement that, no, Yellow was not the mech's name. "Oh. Oh, so then… so then your name probably isn't 'Black,' either!" she concluded, proud of herself. "And The Doctor probably isn't 'The Doctor'!"

The mech kept his semi-smile. "No, they aren't," he confirmed, not doubting for a second who she could be talking about. "My name is Ironhide. The resident medic is Ratchet."

Now, Annabelle wasn't a hundred percent positive what 'resident medic' meant, but she was pretty sure it had to be what The Doctor – what 'Ratchet,' whatever that meant – was. She also didn't understand what 'Ironhide' meant, either, but she didn't want to be rude and ask him about his name. All she uttered was a tiny "huh" as she processed the new information.

"There are bumblebees here?" she inquired suddenly.

Ironhide blinked and leaned the tiniest of fractions backwards. Of course they didn't have bumblebees here. "No," he told her as much.

"So then how is 'Yellow' named 'Bumblebee,' if you don't have bumblebees?"

Something was getting lost in translation here. Or rather, Ironhide realized, _translation_ was getting lost here. The girl didn't understand the concept of language translation. Somehow, he doubted he'd be able to effectively explain it to her, either. Frag, she was so comparatively young…

"Because he liked it," he answered her vaguely. "What's your name?" Ironhide moved on quickly, hoping to get back to more productive, predictable territory.

She had been studying her feet while puzzling over the new names when the question came. The little girl looked up at him with a partial smile of her own. "It's Annabelle. But a lot of people just call me Anna or Annie or Belle…"

"Annabelle," he tested. "Would you mind seeing Ratchet right now, Annabelle?"

"No," said Annabelle innocently. "Did your friend teach him how to speak, too?"

"Yes, he learned, too," Ironhide said.

And then he stared.

Unbeknownst to Annabelle, Ironhide was debating how he was supposed to get her there. He didn't know whether he should volunteer to let her walk now, but then again the distance between here and there would be significant for someone her size, and she had never put up a fight about being carried before…

He supposed he could do what he always did, and take things from there depending on her response.

More respectfully than usual, he cupped his hands together and laid them a short distance in front of her. Ironhide was only mildly surprised when she scrambled up and climbed onto his palms as if nothing had happened.

Perhaps, in this instance, it was a good thing she was so young. He was beginning to doubt she was able to comprehend all the implications and truths about the situation.

"Are you steady?" asked Ironhide.

Annabelle leaned back and looked up at him. "I know how to ride here safely, you know," she said matter-of-factly, almost indignant at the implication that she wasn't a pro at this by now. She released a long-suffering sigh and shook her head.

The clearly attitude-filled roll of her eyes made Ironhide exhale an amused puff of air. He still liked it when she demonstrated that well-hidden spunkiness she'd first shown when 'Sam' and 'Mikaela' brought her out of her fright. Speaking of which, he would have to have a long talk with his ex-charge's human accomplices next time he saw them.

Ironhide stood as smoothly as his joints would let him. The youngling ('child' might have been more accurate, but Ironhide preferred 'youngling') didn't give so much as a peep of discomfort or unease.

The first half of their short journey to the medical bay was made in silence. Annabelle shattered this succinctly by asking, entirely without a traceable line of thought,

"Where'd your girlfriend go?"

Ironhide actually stopped for a brief moment before continuing to walk. "My 'girlfriend'?" He wasn't aware that he had one.

"Yeah – Blue Lady. Where'd she go?"

Blue Lady? "Chromia?" asked Ironhide, startled. Had his attention not been on her before, it would have been now. "You remember Chromia?" His spark mate had only visited for one orn out of the entire time he'd had Annabelle. How did she know femmes would probably be 'gender' dimorphised as female? Or that they were 'boyfriend and girlfriend' for that matter?

"The pretty blue lady who slept in bed with you? I 'member her fine. She was nice."

Pleased that the young human had definitely liked his spark mate – something he had assumed, but never knew for certain – he answered, "She had work elsewhere. She's on another planet right now."

"Your girlfriend's on another _planet? _Whoa," Annabelle breathed in amazement. That was awfully far away from each other.

"What makes you think she was my 'girlfriend'?" he hoped to satisfy his curiosity. He didn't even bother attempting to explain the overall inadequacy of that term when it came to Chromia.

"Well," the girl began, turning around to look at him, "she _was_ sleeping next to you. That's what _my_ mommy and daddy do."

That tiny similarity between the species was large enough to have Ironhide wondering what other seemingly insignificant intricacies they shared. He knew what it signified for Cybertronians, and wondered if it held the same significance for humans. If not, then the possibilities were potentially endless.

It also made Ironhide exceptionally grateful that the idea of interfacing around 'Softspark' had made him too uneasy to even want to try it. Primus only knew what the poor youngling would've been exposed to otherwise.

* * *

Miles hesitantly looked over at B-n'-W.

For the past few minutes, Miles had felt an unceasing set of eyes – technically optics – on him. He had made a valiant effort trying to ignore it and continue with his lounging. A few more shifts, however, and Miles was sufficiently bothered enough to do something about it.

He was generally a laid back person. It normally took a lot to rattle him, although it took a lot less from mechs (but, damn it, he _was_ getting better about that!). Now that he thought about it, it had been more than just a few minutes. The black and white mech had been unusually attentive lately, and especially respectful. Why, just the other day, during his weekly – or whatever it was – bath, the mech had actually given him privacy by turning away. Privacy? Since when had mechs cared about privacy! Not to mention all the other little things over the days.

Now was different, though. It wasn't all that long ago that B-'n-W had come and coerced him to where he was now using fruit bribes. Obviously Miles was wanted here. Then, from the moment he'd dropped down to continue resting, the mech had paid special attention to him. The last few minutes had just been particularly blatant, what with the direct staring and all that.

The mech had to want _something_. The teen ran through a list of possibilities he could think of, though it was quite short. Was he once again a guinea pig-like object of study? Most likely. Was he lying too close to whatever it was the mech was after? Less likely, since B-'n-W probably wouldn't have purposely made him lie down here if he would get in the way. Much less likely, did he have something in his teeth?

Miles sat up partly in anticipation.

"No," Black-and-White assuaged. That syllable alone had Miles's eyes starting to widen, and the teen fully sat up. "You don't need to move if you don't want to."

Miles gaped openly and crawled several paces backwards, rebalancing himself for a potential get away in unconscious adherence to the ancient instinct of fight or flight – he didn't bother trying to be covert about it. He pointed a shaky finger at his owner all the while continuing to shift away. The mech blinked at the gesture and then focused on the condemnatory limb. "You… you talked!" Miles announced, accusing and confused. His initial fright was already melting into plain curiosity, particularly once he went over what exactly it was that had been said to him (he hadn't really understood the first time, surprised as he was to hear any non-human since Mr. Seasick use English).

B-n'-W blinked again. His head moved a fraction to the side. "Yes, I did. I talk fairly frequently. You've simply never understood me before."

In that instant, Miles knew – deep down and by some manner of thinking that he couldn't even comprehend – that he had ended up with the right mech. He stopped his flimsy attempts to distance himself from the mech.

"Minor detail of semantics; you just spoke in English!" Miles edited himself and accused for the second time, much more calmly as the surrealism began to override the surprise.

"Yes," Black-and-White agreed. He looked mildly impressed by the word 'semantics.' "I've just been sent several files regarding your planet's native languages that were previously unavailable, as well as definitive proof that humans are self-aware and developed at the level that you are."

Miles took his turn in the steadily-forming blink-athon. Although there were a few syntactical problems he had with understanding what it was his 'owner' had said, he got the gist of it, and awkwardly answered, "Was that the reason you were staring at me?"

"Not in particular, no," the mech answered without much inflection. "I often observe you in hopes of understanding what you're thinking."

The first thing that came to Miles's mind was the image of a shrunken, human-sized mech hiding in a tree with a pair of binoculars, being a creeper, staring at him through his bedroom window while he slept. He blinked the scene away, and was instantly greeted by a second scene. This one involved a sunny day at the park, with a similarly sized mech tiptoeing after him as he took a leisurely walk, hiding behind bushes and trees like some pedophilic stalker. Somehow, the second picture wasn't quite as disturbing. In fact, it reminded him of Sam and Mikaela, and how the mech at the store had found their interactions so interesting.

He nodded to himself in recollection, barely perceptible.

They continued to stare at each other. But, whereas B-n'-W seemed perfectly content to maintain the silence, Miles grew increasingly fidgety… and this was a completely different type of fidgety than how he normally felt around the mechs.

"So, you don't wanna… hurt me or anything, right?" Miles asked, just to be sure.

B-n'-W narrowed his optics a fraction. "Of course I don't. Have I done something to give you that impression?"

"No, no," the teen quickly assuaged, fearing that the mech might've been insulted by the insinuation. "Only double checking, because you can't be…" He stopped talking abruptly. For once, his brain caught up with his mouth, and right in time. Well, perhaps a couple words too late. Miles literally swallowed the rest of his sentence, hoping the mech would drop it.

As fate had proven time and time again, however, Miles was not that lucky. B-n'-W gave him a few moments to continue, expecting a conclusion. When none came, he pressed, again judgeless, "You 'can't be' what?"

And so Miles debated. Did he tell the truth and hope no repercussion came? His latest owner had never been mean to him – discounting that weird as hell first bath – and had just said he meant no harm. Would that change, though, if he became offended by what Miles had intended to say? Maybe if he explained himself…

"I can't be too careful. I mean, you haven't done anything to me yet, but my other owner did stuff all the time…" Miles left the sentence open-ended, hoping the mech understood.

Black-and-White did not answer right away. Miles's last sentence floated lonely through the air. Finally, the mech stiffened; Miles prepared for the worst based on that gesture alone.

"Your previous 'owner,'" B-n'-W began, using near-tangible air-quotes (which surprised Miles), "is nothing like me. I assure you that had I known his identity, he would be sorely regretting leaving you to fend for yourself. I have yet to do anything to you because I will _never_ do anything to you. As long as I have anything to say about it, you should have no worries about the behaviors of mechs. Enough has already befallen you; I will not allow any more to happen on my watch, you have my word."

"Oh." What did someone say to that? "Sweet." Because, beyond the weirdly dramatic delivery of that statement, it was sorta cool to think that a mech had his back.

"Sugary substances have nothing to do with this," stated B-n'-W, brow plates perfectly imitating a human expression for confusion. The subdued passion of the previous exclamation seemed to have evaporated.

Miles shook his head and immediately tried again, "No, I mean, that's cool."

B-n'-W grew more confused, and his expression more pronounced. "… Neither does temperature."

The problem of idioms and slang dawned on Miles – almost earning its own hallelujah chorus – and a mischievous smirk found a home on the teen's face. "But knowing an alien that likes me and speaks English is so far out, man!" pestered Miles, unable to keep a nerdy smile from his face as he did his best to imitate Scooby Doo's 'Shaggy' for the last bit. He had to wrestle into submission the urge to follow that up with a 'zoinks!'

From his perspective, feeling that he was missing something crucial in the translation process, the mech reiterated in muted desperation, "I honestly do not understand where distance becomes a factor."

"Why can't you just roll with the mad-crazy awesomeness of this?"

"Why can't I go where with the _what?_"

* * *

**A.N.s**

So? What'd you think? Don't worry, there will be more explanations between the races coming up, as well as other plot points. This really was just meant to be the beginning steps of their second, reality-based impressions of each other.

It was definitely shorter than normal, but I didn't see the point of putting in unnecessary material simply to take up space, throw off the feel of the chapter, and drag things down.

Don't forget to mercilessly give away the positions of any typos you spot. They are not your friends, dear readers, and there is no point trying to conceal them from me. It's them or us in this battle. Time to get your war faces on!

… And review, review, review! Reviews make me ever so happy.


	18. Shedding Some Light

Title: Property Of

Rating: T (a few more bad words in this chapter, folks)

Summary: During Cybertronian 'peace,' ex-Cons hide the sentience of and sell humans as pets to secure Earth. Sam and Mikaela might just be the first to grasp the reality of the situation alongside their new owner.

Chapter: Shedding Some Light

Yeah, this is a little late. Yeah, I apologize. But, school comes first, especially when my grades and performance – as well as extracurricular and service involvements – determine whether or not I keep my scholarship (which in turn determines whether or not I continue to attend college at the school I want to be in). However, I thank you greatly for your patience and understanding during the wait, although I'm sure some of you were probably cursing my name/username in your spare time.

This was an unexpectedly difficult chapter to write, since I tried to touch on a lot of different yet important points. As you'll probably be able to tell, I tried not to overlap information too much, especially in the main three groups' conversations, which means that there are sections of each conversation that aren't addressed in those scenes (you'll know which ones I'm talking about). I do not know whether or not I shall ever have flashbacks of some of those sections, but, I don't think they should be necessary.

Other than that, I hope you like the overdue update. I'm eager to have it off of my immediate document list in Word.

* * *

Heavy with silence after the latest question, the two beings studied each other. It was a ritual they had quickly taken to performing in the moments between their questions and answers. Harmless as it was, it was unbearable in the long run, and always prompted the next part of conversation when all else failed.

"And what of the humans that Bumblebee has – up until now – kept as pets?" inquired Prowl.

Seated cross-legged on the desktop as he held a much more serious dialogue with his ex-hunter/ex-captor/ex-owner, Miles could only tilt his head slightly in confusion at the mech's question. They had long since exchanged names, and Miles could honestly say he loved both B-n'-W's actual name and the one that he himself had been given as a pet. Miles had always considered himself to be quirky, and 'Prowl' fit so perfectly with the mental images he'd had of the mech being a stalker. No other names, however, had been shared. So, Miles had no idea what Prowl was talking about. "Who? Who is 'Bumblebee' supposed to be?"

Prowl blinked once, quickly. "Oh, of course, you would not know his translated name. Back when I first stumbled across you and brought you here–"

"–which I seriously need to talk to you about, by the way," Miles noted to the side. His expression grew darker at the very mention. He glared briefly at one of Prowl's hands for its past wrongdoings, no matter how unintentional.

The mech hesitated a little before continuing, "… I, retrospectively, misdiagnosed the reason behind what seemed at the time to be your wild behavior. Hoping that socializing with other humans would calm you so that you were able to be approached, I brought you to stay with an old comrade of mine for several joors. A few days, I suppose," the tactician converted.

"You mean the yellow one, shorter than you?" asked Miles instantly. He visibly perked out of his momentary slump.

"Yellow and with two humans living with him, correct. That mech is Bumblebee."

Miles smiled now, understanding. "Yeah, okay, I know who you're talking about. Cool robot, actually."

There was that obscure, uncalled for temperature reference again. The human surely was not trying to insinuate that Bumblebee was physically colder than other mechs, and yet that was exactly what it sounded like… Prowl ignored it for his own safety. "I will take your word for it. How much do you know about his human roommates, and their experiences with this? Assuming, of course, you spoke of this while together."

Taking a second to appreciate the new designation as 'roommates' and not 'pets,' Miles offered a smile and slight shrug. "You're talking about Sam and Mikaela. They're like… my best friends. Have been for a while, especially Sam. I've known him since we were both little kids, and I've been in the same school with both of them since, like, first grade."

"You knew each other previously?" Prowl asked, surprised. Instantly his processors began spinning, puzzling over the odds and implications.

"Uh huh," Miles agreed with a nod. "Matter of fact, when I got nabbed by your robo-buddies on Earth, it was with the two of them. We were all sent here together, it's just that someone 'bought' me," Miles provided generous gesticulation in air quotes, "before they were purchased, and – amazingly enough – they managed to get 'purchased' together. I never really expected to see them again in my life, but then, there they were…" That had truly been a day to remember: rediscovering friends that he'd tried to convince himself were gone just so that he wouldn't have to imagine what had happened to both of them. Miles stared off hazily into his memories.

"I see," Prowl said quietly. The glassy gaze the human had adopted worried him only for a second, and he did not allow it to distract him. "I apologize for what you've been put through, and would like to clarify that the mechs that apprehended you on Earth are not and have never been my 'robo-buddies,' as you say. Those mechs, and I have strong reason to believe your previous owner as well, are former members of a group known as the Decepticons. Most of the more recent mechs you've been in contact with since leaving your planet, however, have been members of a since-disbanded group known as the Autobots. I myself," the tactician expanded, "am a former Autobot."

"Groups?" Miles repeated curiously. "Two groups of mechs?" He shifted, switching up his legs so that the one that had been folded on top was now the one tucked in on the bottom. A buzzing mosquito of a thought pestered him for a second that felt like it lasted forever. Where had he grown used to grouping mechs into two categories before…?

Eyes widened as the epiphany came, carried in by a flamboyant man-servant on a fancy red cushion with overly ornate gold tassel, ineloquently screaming, 'Look at me, you idiot!'

"Holy shit." Miles nodded to himself (a practice that rapidly unsettled Prowl, who was already concerned by the confusing expletive). "It totally _is_ an eye color conspiracy, isn't it?"

"…Excuse me?" the mech asked the teen. Prowl had the foresight to recognize that his future with this human was bound to be full of misunderstandings, bafflement, and pleas for clarification.

"I bet your 'groups' or whatever are based on your eye color, aren't they? Or… or your… _optic_ color, right, that's what they are? Doesn't matter," he physically waved the thought away before Prowl could so much as nod in contemplation. "You and your friends are all Blues, and Sam and Mikaela and I all saw that the Reds were pretty much assholes – my last owner totally was, and he was totally a Red." Miles didn't even stop to address the funny expression Prowl made at the insults. "You guys are the 'Autobots,' the Blues I mean, so the Deceptions – Decepticons, my bad," stumbled Miles in his increasing passion, "have gotta be the Reds, right?"

The idea that humans were distinguishing between mechs and their personalities based on optic setting was not as surprising to Prowl as it might once have been. He did, however, find himself unusually proud that they had been able to make that distinction so accurately. Because, historically,

"Yes, optic color is related to which category the mech fit in. It is a practice that spans back longer than I can possibly remember. As something of an initiation mark in most circles, since the color was considered quite intimidating and somewhat socially deviant at first, Decepticons were given red optics. As a result, the vast majority of Autobots began a similar practice of their own, choosing to contrast by implanting blue optics," Prowl willingly recognized. "Neutrals usually attempted to distance themselves from either affiliation by using classical white optics, or yellow, which I do believe was once the most prevalent color. The tradition has persisted into the present, having become something fairly second-nature to most mechs. I would wager it is not often thought about so critically anymore."

To Miles, as honestly fascinating as it was, Prowl's explanation ultimately boiled down to, 'Hell yes, there is an eye color conspiracy here, and it's been part of the culture since the dawn of time.' Still, the explanation left something crucial out.

"When you say groups and affiliations, do you mean as in… two street gangs or something? Like, Sharks and Jets kind of stuff? Two gangs, with neutrals who wanted to stay out of it?" It would explain the shoot-out he'd been caught it the middle of between the Red and the two Blues (Miles made a note to himself – ask Prowl about that, too).

Prowl shook his head, choosing to ignore what had to be a cultural reference in favor of addressing the more pressing issue at hand. "No, not two 'gangs.' We were not that crudely organized, nor did we have such a negative connotation at face value. Nor, regretfully, were our confrontations so insignificant in respect to the larger civilization. To be completely straightforward, we were…"

...

...

"… we were an army," Bumblebee told Sam and Mikaela honestly.

Some time had passed, although nothing too significant. Most of it had been filled with more apologies and reassurances, and neither human nor mech had moved more than a few inches from their original positions. It was as though the figurative gravity of the situation had become literal gravity, making movement more difficult than it had any right being.

As if accepting that Yellow wanted to be called 'Bumblebee' in English (a name that the pair of teens had yet to understand) and had only learned the language a couple hours or so ago because he had a friend spying on humans on Earth who had recently learned that humans were self-aware and an 'advanced' species wasn't a hard _enough_ task, now they were supposed to grapple the idea of an inter-robot age-old civil war?

When Bumblebee told them he was an 'ex-Autobot,' Sam and Mikaela thought it must've been some type of city, or rank, or job – a fraternity, even. They were not expecting it to be a war faction, and were initially quite skeptical. Their first instinct was that there was no way that was possible. This mech didn't seem like he would be well-suited for war with the way he cuddled humans and openly winced when he thought he'd done something to offend them.

Upon second thought, though – remembering how fluidly he had drawn an impressive concealed weapon out of his arm and fired on hidden foes like it was an ingrained response – it didn't seem so unbelievable a prospect.

"I don't understand," Mikaela muttered. "These… 'Decepticons,' was that it?" she stumbled with the word. Bumblebee gave her an approving nod, so she continued, "What did they do? What did you have to fight about? You're obviously not fighting now."

Bee 'sighed.' The ex-scout looked to the side, memories offering a quick series of images and stored emotions that summarized his experience of the war. "It's a long story. Literally," he added in afterthought, turning back to Sam and Mikaela. "The war started tens of thousands of years ago, maybe hundreds of thousands. Over time, a lot of different reasons for fighting kept coming up, but by the time it got around to my generation, I think it was mostly because our species didn't know how to do anything else. We'd gotten to such polarized points, grown to hate the other faction so much, ruined Cybertron… there wasn't much to go back or return to anyway. Even if the fighting stopped, people tried to start it up again. It was a way of life."

"Is Cybertron…?" Sam latched onto the unfamiliar term.

"Our home planet. You've never been there; I live in one of the colonies right now," Bumblebee agreed. Then he moved on, "I know the war started over some dispute about the value of organic life, and the rights of non-Cybertronian species in relation to our own. I have friends who'd know the details better than I do. There had been a couple ceasefires in the past, but right before this latest one, a mech called Megatron was behind most of the war. He took things to a new extreme, and we literally fought for the future of Cybertron. There was an artifact that…" The mech stopped and shuttered his optics for a second.

Mikaela fidgeted and prompted, "An artifact that what?"

"Nothing," Bee shook his head. "It's not really that important. What's important is that it wasn't until after Megatron and his second-in-command disappeared that the peace began, and when the peace began, our home world was barren. There was little argument that Cybertron needed to be restored, and our civilization with it, even though we didn't necessarily agree on how to go about getting the resources needed for it. We came together around that one goal."

In the brief silence that followed, something clicked in Sam.

"That's where Earth comes into the picture, isn't it," he realized, barely above a whisper.

The yellow mech met his gaze and had to nod. "Decepticons never held much value for organic sentience. They are the descendent faction of those who were willing to go to war over the destruction of organics in pursuit of Cybertronian expansion. And, your planet is quite rich in its resources," he hated to acknowledge, but knew he could not lie. "It has been invaluable in our reconstruction efforts."

"But that makes it sound like it wouldn't have mattered either way," Mikaela noted. She wondered briefly if she had misjudged this mech. "If you came together for the sake of rebuilding or whatever, whether an Autobot found it or a Decepticon found Earth, you wanted the resources, so you were going to take them."

Bumblebee shook his head fervently; Mikaela actually drew her head in at the urgency behind the gesture. "No. An Autobot wouldn't have. We would have tried to negotiate with you, and that's assuming we didn't just turn away from the planet and leave you alone entirely – we have a history with organic planets that isn't always friendly on your side. Decepticons, on the other hand, would only see the Cybertronian need – they only _saw_ the Cybertronian need. And because they have never cared for non-Cybertronian life, they certainly didn't care that Earth had humans and other species on it that they would be horribly exploiting.

"There're strong ideological differences that have separated Decepticons and Autobots for many millennia now. That's why there was war, that's why it has lasted so long, why times of peace have never lasted, and…" Bumblebee sighed again. "That's why this peace has been a lie, built on the destruction of another race." He looked from one human to the other. "Saying 'sorry' doesn't even begin to cover it."

"Is that why they didn't tell anyone the truth about us? They didn't want you guys – you Autobots – preventing them from using Earth?" Sam asked for clarification.

"I assume there's more to it than that, but yes. What I mean is, I know there are ex-Decepticons that have no idea you're sentient either. It has to only be a select group of them in charge of this whole thing. At least, the few mechs allowed on Earth must be aware of it."

The teenagers looked quietly at one another.

"Yeah," Mikaela confirmed, "The mechs that caught us definitely knew. So did the mechs that processed us." She gave a displeased looked when she recalled exactly what Mr. Seasick said was happening to them before being sold. 'Processed' – like pieces of meat.

Uneasiness prevented the conversation from moving forward. Sam quieted at the reminder, and Bumblebee felt it wasn't his place to speak. However, when it became apparent that neither human was going to do so, he resigned himself to asking that which needed to be asked. The excuse for his previous ignorance had been based on a lie; now there was absolutely no excuse for it whatsoever.

"How did they… I mean, on Earth, the mechs – or was it only one mech? – that… that actually…" He whirred hesitantly. While the alien display of nervousness was indeed strange to Mikaela and Sam, they didn't visibly react to it. Bumblebee audibly took in a fresh cycle of air and restarted. "How were you caught before you were brought here?"

Sam and Mikaela both looked down at the blanket. A grave aura floated between them.

"How much do you want to know?" Sam questioned. Funnily, Bee was sure he detected wariness in the tone again.

But Bumblebee wouldn't be offended by anything they said, no matter how horribly it might paint the other members of his species.

There could be no other answer.

"Everything."

...

...

"Well, it was 'cause a bad robot was coming," Annabelle said, looking from black mech to yellow mech, her fingers weaving together under the combined attention. She had never been fully comfortable when both of them focused on her. Even now it made her feel like they were about to start scolding her. "Daddy had to go help people, and so did Mommy. They leaved – no, _left_ – me with Carly."

"They left you?" Ironhide demanded.

"They were _gonna_ come back when they were done helping people," defended Annabelle, frowning. "But the robot came back first. Lotsa people were gone already, and it was so crazy…" she recalled with a tiny, involuntary shudder. Ratchet saw it and made a recording of the reaction for reference in identifying trauma. "He put us in a net and tooked us with him. Then he tooked a few more people. Then he put us in a big room, and other robots started messing with us."

Ratchet leaned forward ever so slightly. "What exactly did they do to you?"

Shrugging, Annabelle offered quietly, "They got rid of all our clothes and gave us new ones, and put this funny sleepy stuff all over people. It looked like birthday frosting, but it really, _really_ wasn't frosting." The young girl's body gave a remembered cringe at the memory of bitter, acrid tasting pinkish goop. She had only had a little bit put on her, mostly on one of her arms, so it had been easy to hold out her arm and get a tentative lick in. The moment the stuff touched her tongue, though, Annabelle had sorely regretted the decision. Then, next thing she knew, she was asleep, and some of the older kids – like Carly – were saying that they thought it was the nasty-tasting pink stuff that had made them all so sleepy.

"And they made us start eating funny food, and held us lots and lots, and it was really scary. The other robots weren't very nice," she admitted. Nervously, almost apologetically, she wiggled her feet. "I didn't like them. Sorry."

The two ex-Autobots were confused into silence. Ironhide eventually asked the question that was on both of their minds.

"Why are you apologizing?"

Annabelle shifted some more. "Because I didn't like them." Because, obviously, that clarified everything. Eyes still downcast, she fed a lock of her hair into her mouth and began chewing on it to ease her stress. Or, that's why the mechs assumed she was doing it, because there was certainly no nutrient value in eating her own hair.

"You shouldn't be sorry about that," Ironhide consoled, expression softening. "Why would you be sorry about that?"

Tiny hands wrung the hem of her 'shirt,' and Annabelle spit out the hair to try to explain, "You know, 'cause you mighta been friends." Then her mouth seemed to open and close a few time of its own accord as she considered adding more. She suddenly rambled on, "I'm not 'sposed to call people names, though Daddy calls robots names, which don't make sense I guess, and people don't like it when you don't like their friends, and I didn't wanna make you sad again."

/ _**Her language degenerates further when she is stressed or embarrassed, **_/ Ratchet observed. / _**I hope her relative lack of language models hasn't adversely affected her development in that area…**_ /

/ _**Would that explain her constant chattering before? **_/ asked Ironhide, before blinking at Annabelle and, barely remembering not to reach out and stroke her back for comfort, reassuring her that, "We aren't friends. No one who takes your kind from Earth is my friend; you can call them whatever names you want."

Ratchet agreed by nodding. / _**It would make sense for her to try and practice her developing language even in the absence of others, so as not to lose it entirely. Potentially it was also a coping mechanism. It may well explain her attempts at mimicking Cybertronian, if that was truly what she was doing, **_/ he realized. Annabelle's Cybertronian-esque sounds might have been a side effect of being surrounded by a foreign language while still in a developmental period primed for language acquisition. Biological limitation at producing and comprehending the language wouldn't have stopped cognitive attempts to acquire it.

"Oh," said Annabelle, blinking around the room.

For the first time since the young girl had been brought to the medical bay, no one spoke for about a full minute. Silence didn't seem to perturb Annabelle, however, since she continued to look around the room, staring at every object, every medical tool, every cabinet, as if she had never laid eyes on it before.

"You said your father is a warrior, youngling?" Ironhide changed the subject.

"Warrior?" No one had ever referred to her dad like that before. She knew perfectly well what it meant, but… "He was in the army…?" She tried for clarification, somewhat wincing in her uncertainty. Annabelle didn't miss the look the two mechs shared. What she said seemed good enough for the mechs.

"Do you know where Earth armies last stood against the Decepti… 'bad robots'?" he pressed.

The girl stared blankly. "What?"

Placing a hand on Ironhide's upper arm, Ratchet commed, / _**It's no use, Ironhide. She's just a youngling. She hasn't been raised in a military setting. We'll have to ask an older human, one that's more likely to know what was going on and who is more coherent. **_/

/ _**Like Signal? Or Complement?**_ / He couldn't keep a hint of defensiveness from his transmission. Those humans might have been older, but he had never spoken to them – he wasn't going to go so far as to say that they were more 'coherent' than Annabelle.

/ _**Calm down. I meant 'more coherent' as in 'has a better ability to express their understanding of the issues,'**_ / Ratchet dismissed with a roll of the optics. To Annabelle, he said, "Do you and Sam and Mikaela ever talk about Earth?"

Unfazed by the sudden subject diversion, Annabelle nodded.

"And what about humans, like your father, who fight back against the 'bad robots' on Earth? Do you ever talk about that?"

Annabelle nodded again. "A little bit, yeah. Not a whole lot. Why?"

Ironhide contemplatively ticked at the side of his head, urging his processors on. "We have a few questions we'd like to ask them about Earth."

"Oh! Oh, yay!" she exclaimed, suddenly quite excited. Ironhide watched her increasingly jumpy body in concern. He hadn't meant to say anything exciting, or to earn such a reaction. "They gonna come over 'gain? They gotta meet you now that you can talk! Can you tell 'em to bring, uh, bring Miles? Their friend," Annabelle smiled broadly. The pair of ex-Autobots were just about ready to ask how someone could bring a unit of measurement, let alone befriend it, when the young human added, giggling, "He's funny."

It was a 'he.' "So 'Miles' is a designation as well as a distance unit," realized Ratchet in a mumble.

The only problem was, they had no idea who 'Miles' was. Who else had she possibly met?

"I think she means Quirk," Ironhide confided, loudly enough that Annabelle heard clearly and tilted her head inquisitively. "Do you mean the older male, about Sam's age, that a black and white mech brought over here?"

"Yeah! He juggled really good, too," Annabelle agreed enthusiastically. Neither mech responded for a moment while they retrospectively identified exactly what it was that Quirk had been doing by throwing those objects around.

/ _**Could we get all of them over here? That might be too suspicious to have all of us gathered at once,**_ / mused Ratchet over their link.

/ _**We'll ask Prime if he doesn't contact us first. He told us he'd have further directions later, **_/ Ironhide mentally shrugged. / _**I'd like the chance to speak to the lot of them… they've come at this from different angles, so they've gotta have valuable information when combined.**_ /

"We'll do our best," promised Ratchet, nodding solemnly. "Do you think they would answer our questions as well as you did?" he asked Annabelle before he even realized he was doing it. Ratchet knew perfectly well the other humans would speak with him when asked to. He didn't need a youngling's confirmation of it. That very moment he realized just how gently Ironhide had been interacting with her, and that he'd taken the cues naturally, as if they were trying to coddle a fidgety sparkling and not some near-orphaned organic alien.

"Oh yeah," said Annabelle, very serious. Her eyes were widened, mouth firm. Then, as quickly as the expression was there, it was lax again. "They love you guys. Well, 'least Sam and 'Kaela do. I think Miles is still scared of you. Silly." She showed her disapproval of Miles's opinion of the mechs with a haughty raising of her chin. "He just doesn't know how nice you are."

Nice.

That was a word that neither Ironhide nor Ratchet was used to associating with themselves. In unison, they awkwardly returned,

"Thanks?"

* * *

Humans were such an interesting bunch of organisms. Jazz might even go so far as to say that their society – the social expectations, the relationships between one another, the chain of command and respect, and everything else that made up a social structure – was comparable to Cybertronian society in terms of complexity. In some cases, it seemed even more intricate, considering that there were more cultural subdivisions in the human race than there were for Cybertronians: according to rudimentary calculations based on what information had been gathered, with all the different countries and regions and simultaneous existence of various government styles, compounded with the different classes and genders and religions and sexualities, and the subcultures and countercultures that existed within each of those, Earth had more distinct classifications of its people than Cybertron had ever known in all of its history combined.

It could make open interaction with humans complicated, to say the very least. The Earthlings definitely had the same extensive spectrum, like mechs, when it came to personality, motivation, 'moral compasses,' and all of those other individual traits. Those would be even more fun working with.

Although pretending to be an inanimate object was, by itself, a thoroughly boring endeavor for most of the time, Jazz knew it would be worth it in the long run. He was even more willing to stand around – well, more like lay, though that wasn't entirely right, either – because he had access to the humans' 'internet.' That alone was challenging enough to keep him occupied, because it required careful attention and skill to continue integrating and navigating the disrupted pathways without alerting 'Decepticon' control of his intrusion. Just the other cycle, Firewall had nearly triggered an alarm code while trying to reconstruct a set of corrupted files that this country's central government had once maintained.

The fact of the matter was that waiting around was immeasurably boring when it came to the physical, but nothing of the sort when it came to the mental. Even when stationary there was plenty of information to be collected, both from the wireless networks and the physical surroundings.

Concerning the former, Jazz hadn't been surprised to learn humans had installed their own digital locks on, too. These were considerably easier to break once the alien pattern of coding was translated, but that did nothing to damper the saboteur's respect for the species.

As for the physical surroundings, Jazz supposed he could have been kept in a more interesting area, although he was perfectly satisfied with where he was now. After deceiving his way into the human camp – and apparently it was a sizeable camp that the patrols had been guarding, though he had never been brought to the heart of it to observe this firsthand, only left on the defensive outskirts – Jazz had been stowed away in what appeared to be a supply building.

The same sets of humans used this shabby place day after day, leading the mech to believe that all of them were patrol members. He definitely recognized the group he'd used in order to get where he was now. In an odd way, he'd grown attached to that set of humans. Jazz didn't see the humans as 'his,' per say, but he couldn't help but feel protective of them, and intrigued by them. They were, after all, his main source of information on the species one-on-one.

Crates and boxes covered with boards and tarps took up a good portion of the structure Jazz was kept in – nearly two thirds of it. Some of these were neatly labeled: MREs, AMMUNITION (followed by some descriptor of what type of ammunition it was), UNIFORMS, CLOTHING (followed by some descriptor detailing what type of clothes were in there, such as shirts or pants or shoes; then, another describing who the clothing was for, such as for children, males or females, or a range of numbers that Jazz assumed indicated a size on some scale the humans had created). A fair percentage was marked as some type of weapon or other. Some weren't labeled at all, and Jazz could only guess at what was in them, or hope that they were opened in front of him.

Jazz also knew that there were at least six other supply posts like this one for this settlement since he'd heard some of the humans who stopped in here mention it as 'Post Seven.' So, there were either at least six other ones standing, or there had been six other ones that were destroyed. Considering the signal strength in the area and the way it seemed this place was flourishing (relatively speaking), he felt like it was the former.

Earth had completed almost four rotations since he'd transmitted the language data to his friends. Prime hadn't taken long to get back to him afterwards, informing him in a heavily encoded transmission that Jazz and his team would not remain alone on Earth for much longer. The mech didn't include details – Jazz would've been astonished if he had – but made fairly clear that plans were underway to send a mech or two for a rendezvous with him.

From there, Optimus said, they would be entrusted with contacting the humans directly and preparing to take corrective action. What the 'corrective action' entailed, on the other hand, Jazz was uncertain. But he wasn't an idiot; Prime couldn't just start shutting down all operations on Earth without the severe risk of restarting the war, and since no one felt as though human sentience was the only thing being concealed about Earth, it was unlikely Prime would want to jeopardize the situation further.

Quite the conundrum, really. Jazz didn't envy Optimus's position.

Personally, Jazz felt as though Starscream was involved. There wasn't any proof (yet) that the Decepticon runaway had his sleazy servos working behind the scenes, but Jazz had a feeling, and his feelings often turned out to be right – almost ninety-one percent of the time, in fact! Besides – the rumors about the humans had turned out to be true, so it wasn't that far-fetched to think that the rumors about Starscream's whereabouts were, too. Those rumors were far less common, granted, but that hardly mattered.

What Jazz didn't understand about that hunch was _why_. He couldn't figure out what Starscream could possibly be after on this planet. It probably wasn't the resources, although they were valuable in replenishing Cybertron. It probably wasn't the profit motive, because last Jazz checked, Starscream just wasn't that kind of mech. It couldn't be for hiding, that much was obvious, because not even 'Screamer was stupid enough to think staying in one high-interest place was safer than staying on the move.

Whatever the reason, Jazz simply couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about this planet, in addition to the destruction of the dominant species' civilization.

"-took a damn branch to the face. Didn't they ever teach you how to dodge branches in training?"

Though he hadn't been moving whatsoever, the ex-Autobot felt as though he had frozen at the sound of the voice. It was accompanied by a couple rounds of laughter and some grumbling.

The main door to the compound opened and three humans walked in, likely fresh off of patrol. One was occasionally rubbing his face (presumably having walked into a branch) and the other two were laughing at their friend.

In the corner of the supply post nearest to Jazz, there was a little round table and some chairs, a beaten up couch, half a mattress, and a smaller crate full of games that Jazz mostly didn't understand. There was a worn sink against a wall in that corner, and a refrigerator, with a set of shelves sporting glasses and dishes. The rec area was makeshift at best, but that didn't seem to stop the humans.

Jazz was infinitely grateful that it existed. He'd overheard a lot from the 'guys' when they 'hung out' there.

There were three vehicles lined up alongside him, none of them anything more than pieces of human machinery: a dark green minivan, a red compact, and a black jeep. The black jeep was the only one Jazz had ever seen functioning, and occasionally the men took it out. The minivan and compact, however, were as still as the grave.

One of the laughing men swung into the jeep and lounged on the front seat, kicking a leg up over the door and sprawling one across the dashboard. The other two got glasses of water and settled themselves in at the table.

"Wish we could still get the radio, you know?" the man in the jeep asked rhetorically, fiddling with the knobs on the console. "Not these stupid little short wave pagers," he added, gesturing at one of his pockets. "Do you think Samson was serious when he said the code jockeys thought there was more fiddling going on with them?"

The one who'd been hit with the branch flicked his glass. "I think so." He then lifted the cool thing to his face and nursed the abused skin there. "But you know how bad he is with tech. Couldn't explain the format of a website if he had to… Well, maybe then…"

Jazz subtly increased his sensors. Normally he found everything the humans said interesting and worth his while somehow, but this was more promising than normal.

"Can you believe that? You think that they're trying to take down all the mini grids we have up?"

"Could be," the third man said with a shrug, taking a few gulps of water. "But I think I overhead Lee talking about the feds, or something like that. They might be going after the government's stuff – but that stuff must have been pretty well protected to even detect something like that at this stage of the game. Can you imagine still having functioning firewalls? Makes you wonder what's in those systems."

The jeep guy rolled his shoulders. "Makes you wonder what's in those systems that the bastards forgot to get the first time around," he corrected his friend. "I can only hope they fucked themselves over by crashing everything before they decided to go back in for datasweeps. Alien idiots…"

_You can say that again_, Jazz mused. _On both accounts_. It was a real pain in the processors to piece together all that data properly while handling both human and Cybertronian data locks and code breakages. It was also incredibly stupid for the ex-Cons to have started razing the planet before getting everything they wanted.

That opened up a world of possible answers as to how Earth had first come onto the Cybertronian radar. It was common knowledge that some ex-Decepticon explorers had scouted out the planet on an expedition, but the problem with common knowledge was that it wasn't always very accurate.

It couldn't have been Firewall who had alerted the humans, could it have been? It was Cybertronian alarms he'd run up again, not human ones. Firewall had given an incredibly detailed report about it, and nothing had mentioned any problem at all with the human coding.

But then who…? Well. That question seemed almost pointless, given that there was really only one possible alternative.

What could those ex-Cons be after now? It had to be something important if it had to do with files from the federal systems.

Prime would want to know about that.

The three humans kept talking, downing their glasses and getting refills. The guy in the jeep eventually swung back out of the vehicle and grabbed a glass of his own. He joined his friends at the table, made a crack about how getting hit in the face with a branch had actually improved his one friend's appearance, and then they dropped into conversation about their families

Several minutes later another group of men – one Jazz was much more familiar with – came in, preparing for their patrol shifts.

Jazz, for once, did not give them his full attention. Instead, he began setting up a message for Optimus, readying the encryptions.

He couldn't wait to have this place figured out, and he knew he was going to have a great time in the process.

* * *

Punctuality was a funny thing. Like many concepts, it only mattered in terms of relativity. It was nothing more than an entirely ideological construct, clearly not existing in even the faintest sense outside of one's mind. Yet, it told so much about someone. Whether one tried to be punctual or not revealed all sorts of things about the level of interest one held for a particular event or person: attempting to be punctual indicated respect, which itself indicated values and potentially one's upbringing; a lack of attempt provided much the same information; attempted but failed punctuality often led to remorse or guilt from one party, and either empathy or apathy from the other, which spoke volumes about how the parties felt about one another; and ignored punctuality seemed to speak for itself.

Optimus had always been a rather 'on time' type of mech, except when circumstances required he be late, or lateness was the better option. He had been raised this way, but liked to think that even had he not, he would try to make good on everything he said, including when meetings or other events did or did not start.

That was one of the reasons why he regretted arriving at this meeting a whole two breems tardy. Unforeseen events had unfurled, and now he walked into the room behind schedule.

What was odd was that the room was unoccupied when he arrived.

The Prime blinked once, twice at the vacant room. It was a small room, now meant purely for one to stop and catch a moment or two by themselves, or with one or two close friends. Neither furniture nor decoration was added to take up any space. In fact, it may well have been nothing more than a small storage or maintenance area once upon a time.

However, Optimus knew that punctuality also played a significant role in the upbringing of the mech he was supposed to be meeting here. Unforeseen circumstances or not, there was not a chance that this mech would arrive late to anything, let alone a meeting with a Prime.

That left the simple conclusion that said mech had, in fact, arrived on time.

"_**It's safe, Mirage; you can lower your shields,**_" he announced to the room, gently closing the door.

At the farthest end of the room – only a few arm lengths away – the air appeared to flicker and bend before a blue and white shape took form. Blue optics regarded him with a dignified yet curious stare, expression much the same.

"_**I apologize for the delay,**_" Optimus continued. "_**I promise I will not keep you here long.**_"

"_**If I may ask, sir,**_" Mirage began, respectfully brushing aside the apology, "_**Why am I here at all? You were astonishingly vague in your transmission, willing though I was to answer your call.**_"

Optimus nodded to himself, silently apologizing for that, too. "_**I need you to contact a mech for me and negotiate his cooperation with something, and it needs to be done without anyone else finding out about it. For that type of task, I have faith in your skills.**_"

The once high society mech's gaze never waived. He acknowledged, however, "_**That is still highly vague, Prime – I now gather intentionally so.**_"

Once more, Optimus nodded. "_**It is. Do you know a mech named Payload?**_"

Mirage lowered his optics in thought. He shook his head resolutely after a few astroseconds. "_**The designation holds no significance for me. I'm to assume this is the mech to be contacted?**_"

"_**Yes. He is a former Decepticon. Other investigations reveal he's a rather large, if not more recent, investor in Swindle's pet trade, and a highly profit-motivated mech,**_" Prime explained. "_**You see, I have a need to send someone to Earth soon, unsupervised,**_" he stressed, "_**and the only way this will be covertly possible is if I have the cooperation of a business insider. As you may have noticed, there is not a single former Autobot invested in the trade at any significant level that I may turn to.**_"

"_**As a profit-driven mech, he will be prime target for monetary coercion – or some other form of compensatory persuasion,**_" Mirage supplied logically. "_**And I **_**have**_** noticed the markedly unequal makeup of the business. I feel it would be exceedingly difficult not to. Am I also to assume that has something to do with the urgency for secrecy?**_"

"_**A very large part of it,**_" agreed Optimus.

Working along faction lines again? Mirage blinked at the room and straightened (exactly how, Optimus was unsure, since Mirage had appeared to be perfectly straightened before). "_**What am I to be offering, and in exchange for what?**_"

"_**What I am hoping to obtain is his secrecy and full cooperation. Specifically, for now, that will entail pretending to visit Earth himself, and vanishing entirely until the operation is complete, which may not be for a while. We will offer full compensation for the entirety of that time, as well as a reasonable additional bonus depending on what he claims is his price. Also, his cooperation will earn him freedom from incrimination,**_" he added thoughtfully.

"_**Freedom from incrimination? From what?**_" Mirage asked automatically. If he hadn't already been suspecting that something like a scandal was the root of the problem, he certainly was now.

Optimus regarded him for a brief second. "_**From malicious, intentional involvement in the subjugation of another race in order to exploit its home world.**_"

Comprehension lit up the other mech's face. "_**The rumors were factual, then. Humans are a sentient species.**_" At the bare minimum, Hound was certain to be thrilled, and Red Alert certain to be irritated.

"_**And it is imperative that that remain a secret. I cannot have those invested in the business acting out against the innocent humans they have access to. I also cannot yet risk laying blame where it is not deserved,**_" he regretfully admitted, "_**because that is sure to restart the war – or start another one – before anything else can be worked out. It's impossible that every mech in the trade would know the truth behind the enterprise.**_"

"_**But you believe Payload does?**_" inquired Mirage, confused.

Optimus shook his head. "_**No. I believe much the opposite; I cannot fathom why Swindle would explain his trade tricks to investors.**_"

"_**Then why not approach Swindle directly? Place blame nowhere else, and concentrate focus to one mech. He is certainly the head of the trade, and operations targeting individuals are usually much more easily orchestrated than ones concerning whole groups or industries.**_"

"_**I won't do that because I do not believe it is solely his fault, either, Mirage. I think there is more at play surrounding Earth than merely the humans and the resource exports.**_" Precisely what that was, on the other hand, Prime did not know. He could not hope to identify what it was about the planet that had concerned him from practically the day of its discovery. It was like a forgotten yet nagging memory, or an instinct that took the form of a near-silent yet persistent voice. He sensed it constantly in the very core of his spark, and yet it never offered him any hints. "_**I'm not willing to risk the opportunity to find out what that is by prematurely acting. The only things certain at this point are that the humans are being terribly misused and I must get in contact with them, and that I need to find out exactly what is happening on that planet. Once I do that, we can act as openly and forcefully as we must. Swindle, even if approached directly, will never reveal that information. He would much rather cover it up and obscure it, I'm certain.**_"

Slowly, Mirage nodded. "_**I understand.**_"

"_**Good,**_" Optimus said, genuinely relieved. "_**Remember when you contact Payload that it is not so much the price he settles on, but that he does settle. I am willing to go to great lengths to ensure this.**_"

"_**Understood, Prime. I will have an excuse for my absence within a cycle, and with any luck you will have this mech's cooperation within three cycles' time at most.**_" The blue and white mech paused. There was not much left to be said. His mission objective was clear enough, and he knew Prime would give him any more details should it become necessary. However, one thing struck him as odd. "_**I never would have expected you to resort to bribery,**_" Mirage said with one raised brow plate.

Chuckling good naturedly, Optimus conceded, "_**Not normally, and I would still not condone its widespread use. Sometimes, sadly, it is the significantly lesser of two evils. If used for the right reasons, I suppose bribery is not all that horrible an act.**_"

"_**Mechs have done much worse,**_" Mirage readily, somberly agreed. More than a few mechs – and more than a few activities – came to mind. Some three vorns of declared peace and a couple more of uncertain ceasefire were paper thin in relation to the millennia of war their kind had all but grown up with; those atrocities would never be forgotten.

Optimus's mind went in a similar direction, and he had to prevent all of his thoughts from rushing to his lost brother. He frowned slightly, but gave one final, consenting nod. "_**They have indeed.**_"

* * *

**A.N.**

Bam – knowledge drops all around. Action? No. Necessary? Yes, sadly. The next chapter will probably be much the same, but the fun should start to pick up in the one after that (assuming my planning plays out properly).

You _will_ get to see how Jazz got into the settlement in the future, but try not to get too excited; it's not that amazing.

Until then, please continue to send reviews/PMs my way! They let me know which points in the story you like, let me gauge overall reception, and just make me feel good. Plus, they tend to guilt me into the next update even when the reviewer doesn't even mention it.


	19. Crucial Steps in Leaping Forward

Title: Property Of

Rating: T (prepare for some frustrated swearing)

Summary: During Cybertronian 'peace,' ex-Cons hide the sentience of and sell humans as pets to secure Earth. Sam and Mikaela might just be the first to grasp the reality of the situation alongside their new owner.

Chapter: Crucial Steps in Leaping Forward

Okay, so I mega-failed in getting this chapter out. I have no excuses that haven't been mentioned before, no matter how legitimate they are, so I will refrain from mentioning them again. However, full disclosure – this chapter (as much as I hate it and its lack of fun content) took only a couple days to write when I finally slapped myself figuratively and said, 'Listen, Self – sit down and write this stupid thing so you can move on to better chapters.'

And now there's this. I apologize up and down, left and right, front and back, so on and so forth, for both the ridiculous longer-than-two-month wait and the relatively unrewarding update. At least next chapter we can start a little bit more fun, right? Right.

Many thanks to my reviewers, and especially those that have been on my case for the last week or so; it was the first week I've been home from college, as well as my birthday, and you've reminded me that writing this can once again move up on my list of priorities.

* * *

Sam usually didn't think that three days constituted a long time, and neither did Mikaela for that matter. Weekends during the school year had always seemed to be over before they even began, and those were _almost_ three days.

This time around, though, three days seemed pretty much like forever.

Three days since they'd woken up from a nap to discover Yellow staring at them. Three days since they'd tensed at the unknown seriousness of the situation. Three days since everything they thought they'd known about the alien mechs had started to come crashing down.

To borrow a phrase Mikaela had never been very fond of due to her past with the law, the jury was still out on 'Bumblebee.' Mikaela knew Sam wanted to give the mech the immediate benefit of the doubt, even after what they'd learned about his being involved in some apparently epic war, and honestly, she did too, but the whisperings of doubt in her mind were not as easily silenced as Sam's were.

Sure, he seemed like a good 'guy.' Mikaela wouldn't argue that he'd always done his best to treat them nicely, especially since he apparently hadn't thought they were anything more than mindless little animals. Maybe it was just the worry she'd probably always have around metal giants that could kill her even when they weren't trying to, but she wasn't ready to start trying to make any aliens her new best friend.

Or maybe it was only because Sam was, and always had been, a nerdy geek, and the prospect of getting to talk with a mech that wasn't going to zap them was too much for him to pass up – maybe she only seemed morose in comparison. At that very moment, Sam was asking the mech about what was in the food they got that came in the packets, and Bumblebee was scanning an emptied bag's contents and relaying the information in precise detail. In Mikaela's opinion, they both rather sounded like awkward yet enthused geeks.

"I have… known other organic species before," Bumblebee suddenly prefaced during a break in the conversation. Mikaela felt his optics trying to re-invite her to take part, and she felt compelled to give him her full attention then. "Most were of only debatable sentience. A great majority of them ingest other things, like this, for fuel, but… I have never understood…" He seemed to struggle with trying to find a way to ask something that wouldn't seem too outlandish. In the end, he gave up and asked – looking remarkably wary – in a hesitantly curious voice, "What is 'taste'?"

That caught Mikaela by surprise. Sam, too, if his half-gaping mouth was any indication.

"Taste?" thought Mikaela aloud.

Bumblebee looked encouragingly at her.

"I mean, taste is like… with food, food has flavors, and we… I mean, the sensation to us… " Sam struggled worse than the mech had, realizing he couldn't think of any way to express the idea of 'taste' or 'flavor' without using the other word. "You don't have taste?"

The yellow mech shook his head and glanced over the foodstuffs. "We get our energy from converters or special recharges, but mostly from energon. Energon has different… concentrations, maybe? Sometimes the makeup of it differs a bit, with different proportions of chemicals or solutions, and we can register the differences, but it's like…" Bumblebee shrugged. "We've been told it's not taste, so much as it's recognition of the different components."

"How to describe taste," Mikaela mused. "Well, I guess you could say taste is like… different foods making you feel different ways? But tastes are personal," she realized after a second. "You said you just notice differences – that probably means you all experience the same thing. I know for humans, though, Sam here really loves the way blueberries taste, but I can't stand them."

"But then it's a purely one-sided experience? The food does not determine the response, but your neurobiology does?" Bumblebee asked, intrigued.

Mikaela and Sam blinked at one another.

"I… guess?" Sam ventured. "I don't know. Neither of us is exactly a neurobiologist."

Bumblebee mulled this over in silence, regarding the food critically. These particular foods, Sam had told him with no lack of conviction, had either no taste or an unpleasant one.

The teenagers jumped in place when Bumblebee gave a little start. However, whereas he sat still afterwards, Mikaela and Sam began looking around to find out what had startled him. Their confusion grew when the mech began looking at them intermittently – almost as though in reference – without saying anything.

What the…?

Bee nodded faintly and sighed shortly afterwards. At least, it sounded something like a sigh when a small hiss of air escaped some system or another.

"I expected as much," he spoke up after about a minute of this, sounding pleased with himself.

"Uh, what happened right there?" Sam was brave enough to ask.

Though he had clearly never forgotten they were there, Bumblebee shot his attention to the pair of humans as though they had materialized out of thin air in front of him. "Oh! Oh," he exclaimed and then apologized, "I was receiving a radio communication a moment ago." He tapped self-consciously at his head. "Same type of thing you used to call Ratchet for me when I was injured. Actually, that _was_ Ratchet," Bee connected the two thoughts with an alien smile. "Remember how I said we'd probably get together with my friends some time to talk more about what was going on?"

Of course the teenagers remembered. The ex-scout had only mentioned it a dozen or so times over the course of the last three days, openly eager to get everyone together.

"Yeah," was Sam's short and simple answer.

"I was right," he said proudly. "Ratchet says Prime is on his way, and wants to meet with you. Prowl – and your friend – will be there, too. He wants us to leave as soon as possible."

"Okay," Mikaela answered after a moment. "Sounds fine, I guess."

So they waited a little while, Sam and Mikaela fidgeting while Bumblebee simply stared at them, wordless.

"…So are we going, or no?" hazarded Mikaela eventually, eyebrows furrowing in concern.

Bumblebee hesitated before answering quietly, strained, "Yes."

"I think what she's trying to ask is, what's the hold up?" Sam rephrased. Clearly the subtle meaning behind his girlfriend's question had been missed.

The mech clicked a couple times and studied the floor. "The Ark is far away, and it would take a long time for you to walk there." He looked horribly distraught over mentioning this well-known fact.

"So?" Mikaela and Sam asked at precisely the same time. Sam continued on alone, "So you just carry us in one of those little cages again. What's the big deal?"

But Bumblebee looked alarmed then. His doorwings rose and his downcast optics raised. "I don't want to put you in a cage. Never again," he muttered.

Bumblebee had been in cages before. During the war, he had been captured – twice. Both times, he had been kept in cells that seemed very much like cages. Both times, he'd faced tortured interrogations and been the toy submitted to the Decepticons' idea of 'fun.' No self-aware creature belonged in a cage; no regularly sentient creature belonged in one, really. He'd already been keeping these two in carriers when he shouldn't have been. Bee did not want to make them endure that again.

"We, uh… we don't mind, Bee – can I call you Bee?" Sam first explained and then questioned, rapidly, tripping over his own tongue. It was only after he'd said the name 'Bee' that he realized how familiar it sounded, how natural it felt.

"Of course; all my friends call me by a nickname," Bumblebee told him honestly, concerned for a moment that Sam had thought he would take offense to something as harmless and comforting as a nickname. But, in response to the more pressing part of what Sam had said, "Of course you mind."

Mikaela shook her head though, climbing to her feet, and Sam did the same. "We really don't. We're used to it, strange as that may be, and we know you don't mean anything by it. Besides, it's kind of necessary right now."

"Well, unless you can teleport or something," Sam said to the side, trying to joke.

The attempted humor fell flat, however, when Bumblebee shook his head and said seriously, "No, I haven't been outfitted with those modifications."

"…You can actually teleport?" Mikaela answered in Sam's place, since Sam was still trying to gain control of his inner geek at the possibility. He was staring, mute and in awe, and did not seem like he could have spoken even if he wanted to.

"_I_ can't, no," Bumblebee repeated.

"But your people _can_? They know how to?" clarified Mikaela.

The scout blinked in realization. "Oh! Well, yes, some mechs can, and most of our ships can – transwarp technology. Actually," he said thoughtfully, "some of the same physics involved in that are what allow for our subspace storage pockets. Speaking of…"

While Sam was still turning over the revelation about teleportation no longer being science fiction, Bumblebee grasped their carrier out of thin air. As always, both humans stared in wonderment. Bee, however, looked over the carrying cage with disdain.

"You're… sure?" he asked warily.

"We're sure," they said near-simultaneously.

Still unwilling, Bumblebee set the carrier down. He silently watched Sam and Mikaela climb inside and settle down. The perfect picture of human obedience, they sat down and crossed their legs, tucking their hands in their laps and looking around expectantly for something to happen; Mikaela leaned against her boyfriend.

"Good to go?" Sam called.

"Yes," said Bee at length. He shifted forward and closed the carrier, movements so fine and precise and measured that someone might have assumed he was performing life-or-death surgery, not closing a door. The three of them shared one last look – two of them reassuring in some way, one apologetic – before Bumblebee climbed to his feet and claimed the carrier.

Never once had he been unsafe with or not protective of the carrier when the humans were inside, but this time he literally cradled the thing as though it were a sparkling.

"I'll walk quickly and have you out of there as soon as possible," he promised them.

Sam brushed aside, "Whatever you want. As long as you don't drop us, we're good."

Never, thought Bee – he'd never drop them, and surely they knew that. It had to be a joke, he reasoned. Maybe, if he was lucky, he could get to the point where he was as comfortable with the jokes as they were.

* * *

A giant get-together with a grand total of six mechs? _Bring it on_, Miles challenged the universe. He knew all of the mechs already – except this 'Optimus Prime' that Prowl repeatedly attempted to describe – and now they spoke English! This was the perfect next step in his self-directed road to recovery. They could have cheesy introductions and explain all the ins and outs of their alien society and Earth's role in it… Hell, they might even be able to confirm or invalidate a thing or two about his favorite sci-fi fandoms (since Prowl clearly had very little aptitude for understanding Miles's explanations of humans' science fiction inventions, and had thus been unhelpful in that area).

Miles still had a million questions, though, about the impromptu meeting that was about to take place. When 'his' mech had gotten the communiqué about the meeting, they had left within one minute, tops. Prowl seemed to have a thing about strictly following directions, so that "as soon as possible" literally meant "the very second you are able to."

Sadly, Miles had to stop his questions when the carrier door closed. One, he wasn't going to be able to get any answers from Prowl once they stepped out of the mech's home, and two, Miles didn't want to look absolutely insane mumbling to himself the whole way. That'd probably be a little suspicious, too, now that he thought about it.

That didn't change the fact that those millions of questions – okay, probably only dozens, although plenty more could be thought up with time – were still floating around in his brain. They ranged from reasonable to unreasonable, relevant to irrelevant, but that didn't make them any less interesting (at least to him).

For now, Miles knew he'd have to sit tight and wait to be surrounded by the 'friendly' mechs before making his inquiries. In the meantime, he cradled his legs and stared at the alien cityscape that he was being carried through. He studied each and every mech he could spot, even briefly met the optics of a few curious passersby, and made guesses as to how each might treat a human.

There was one mech for whom no guess was required, and only one. Miles was so amazed by the discovery that he crawled to the wall of his carrier and gripped the bars. Prowl noticed the change and paused.

Heading their way was a lithe mech whose armor was a deep purple-red with black streaks and silvery innards. Light red optics – three of them – shone out of a highly angular face. More importantly, there was a small carrier held securely in his arms, inside which sat a middle-aged brunette woman. The closer the pair drew, the more details Miles was able to make out, and the more easily he could read her expression: defeat.

Miles let go of the bars and fell back gracelessly onto his butt. Had he looked that bad after Indy? Probably worse…

The woman – whose head was mostly tucked into her arms, which he could make out faint bruising patterns on as they drew nearer and nearer – looked up suddenly, having sensed him.

Their eyes locked. Miles swore water started to swell in her gaze at the mere sight of him.

Prowl, perhaps taking cue from the stunned human, called out to the stranger as they grew even with one another (whatever was said, however, was lost on Miles).

Close together now, Miles re-gripped the bars and stared. The woman clearly wasn't given baths, she looked too skinny for her height and her cheekbones seemed more pronounced than Miles thought normal, and the bruises from rough handling were unmistakable at this distance. She looked as though she wanted to crawl closer, but thought better of it with a wary glance at the body of the mech behind her.

Overcome with a sudden need to help her, in whatever way he could, he murmured across the short gap, "Things are gonna change, I promise."

The brunette looked amazed for a second, then narrowed her eyes and shook her head. Miles was about to reassert his claim when she opened her mouth and said, in a voice so soft he barely caught it, something in a language he couldn't even identify – Russian, he guessed, but maybe something else. Then a heavily accented, "Not good English."

It was only to be expected, really… there were bound to be more than English-speakers bagged and tagged.

Her owner heard her quiet response despite her efforts, and gave the carrier a tiny yet pointed jostle. She flung her arms out to steady herself and shot her eyes away instantly, as though continuing to even acknowledge the young man would get her in more trouble.

Prowl presumably decided that further delay would, indeed, be more problematic than anything. In preparation to end the short conversation, he turned his body slightly away from the purple-red mech, making his intentions clear.

Seizing his chance, Miles made two exaggerated thumbs up. "Hey!" he hissed to get her attention back. She turned to him. "Things – they will be good soon. Not… not sad. Happy."

Before he could even guess at whether or not she had understood him, the mechs parted and continued on in their separate directions.

Miles dropped onto his back and covered his face with his hands. He began mumbling about all the bull he'd had to put up with and how unfair life could be, as well as made valiant and convincing arguments as to how everything was looking up now.

If Prowl was concerned by this behavior, he didn't make any indication of it. At least, he didn't until he reached the safety of the Ark.

"What did that female – woman – say to upset you?" Prowl asked Miles the very second that the entrance doors closed them into the stationary ship. Miles still hadn't changed positions by that time.

"Damned if I know – I don't speak Russian. Or Ukrainian. Or… damn, that might've been Polish, now that I think about it…" Miles devoted a few seconds towards determining what language had been spoken, but it proved inconclusive. "It just sucks, I mean it blows – crap, I mean… it's just _annoying_," he struggled to avoid colloquialisms, "to not have been able to reassure her or anything. She just looked so torn down that she made me think of myself. Not that I can do anything about it now."

It was bittersweet to recognize that. Still, recognition was the crucial first step towards getting over it – or something like that.

Miles groaned and propped himself onto his elbows, then into a sitting position. He took in the familiar hallways, which had freaked him out the last time he was here. His mind had been a bit too awestruck during his last visit, but he'd still been able to remember most of the path he'd been carried down. This didn't seem to be like that path.

"Uh, Prowl? Where are we going?"

"Medical ward, on Ratchet's request – you have been there before." Oh, okay, so maybe his memory wasn't the best. "It is a more guarded area of the ship and plays along well with Prime's cover story," said Prowl.

Interest piqued now, despite his loss of faith in his own memory, Miles turned around. He couldn't exactly see Prowl's face, but his chest was better than nothing. "What's the cover story?"

"That he has a damaged audio receptor and wants his trusted friend and highest skilled medic to perform the repairs. The rest of us, having heard the news, are gathering to reminisce." Prowl hesitated before adding, "Ratchet likely wants to perform actual maintenance as well, after the discussion is over."

Miles mumbled a tiny "ah" and nodded to himself.

It was only a couple corridors more before Miles could hear voices. Three of them, he noted – one unmistakably a little girl's. And, sure enough, when Prowl finally stood in the doorway to the medical bay, Miles spotted Annabelle sitting on a bench-like table and talking to the black and yellow mechs that lived there.

"Prowl," greeted Ratchet at once. Blue optics moved quickly down to the teenager. "It's 'Miles,' is it?"

The black mech was looking now, too. "Yes, sir," said Miles. He pulled a face at himself a moment later – where had the 'sir' come from? Regardless, the blonde awkwardly climbed out of his carrier once Prowl set it on the table, waved to everyone, and said hi to Annabelle.

"It is good to see you again," the medic said formally. Then, to Prowl, "Bumblebee should be arriving any moment now, and Wheeljack with him; they met up on the way. Prime will arrive shortly afterwards, if their ETAs are accurate."

Prowl acknowledged the information with an inclined head and subspaced the empty carrying cage.

While the mechs spoke, Miles sidled over to Annabelle with a quiet, "Hey, how's it going?"

The little girl smiled. "Good. 'Hide can talk!" she pointed vaguely at the black mech. "Ain't it cool?"

"Yeah. How about that?" Miles asked back with a grin. He sat down next to her and set about surveying the room. This only lasted a couple minutes before a yellow mech carrying two humans in a cage entered and all attention flitted magnetically to him; the mech with the glowing panels framing his face followed after them. "Nice time estimate," Miles congratulated under his breath.

Before Bumblebee said hello to any of his friends, he approached the table and let Sam and Mikaela out. The mech offered a quiet apology as he stored the carrier in his subspace.

"You don't need to keep saying that – we believe you," Sam advised, with the air of someone who had said the same thing numerous times before.

"I could use some more apologies," offered Miles, butting in and trying to calm his already growing nerves. Five mechs down, one more to go. For a second he wondered if drawing attention to himself like that had been a stupid move, because Bumblebee gave him his undivided attention. The weight of it was almost tangible. "If you're giving them out, that is," he amended. The gaze didn't waver for another few seconds, and when it did, it turned to Sam and Mikaela as though looking for an answer. "Sorry," Miles called the now pitiful-looking mech's attention back. "I was joking."

Bumblebee's armor flared a bit with the force of a relieved intake of air. "Sam and Mikaela have told me about you, Miles. I'm Bumblebee – it's nice to really meet you!" the ex-scout tried to recover. He offered a finger, which Miles tentatively grasped the tip of and 'shook.' Then, moving right along, Bumblebee repeated the same thing with Annabelle, although she insisted over and over again that they had already met.

Miles was still stunned by the mech's reaction to him. And here he had thought it probably wasn't possible for the robots to get nervous like that because of humans… or for one to look like a kicked puppy.

"Bee's a real friendly 'Bot," Wheeljack explained from across the room, drawing Miles's attention. His panels were flickering faintly pink. "Still a youngling at spark."

Still a youngling at spark? Miles blinked over at Bumblebee, who was talking to both Annabelle and Ironhide, and sighed exaggeratedly. Yep – that was the first thing that came to mind when he saw a sixteen foot tall robot, alright: 'kid.'

"Man, how've you been?" Sam took his opportunity to get a word in. He embraced Miles and gave him a couple pounds on the back. "You're looking a lot better, that's for sure."

Grinning, Miles said, "Wish I could say the same. But yeah, it's been a lot better. It turns out B-n'-W's actually pretty awesome. Oh, and his name is totally _Prowl_. Like, a cat prowlin' around, about to kill something. How badass is that?" He let Mikaela and Sam both express their approval of the name before continuing, "Seriously, mechs here talking English; crazy stuff afoot, right?"

They all agreed wholeheartedly.

"At first I wasn't so sure," Mikaela admitted, "and I think I had a pretty healthy wariness, but I think they're serious about wanting to try and set things right. Bee's pretty sweet, at least. I think he thinks we secretly blame him for everything that happened."

"He's got my vote of confidence," Sam said, perhaps needlessly.

Mikaela scoffed. "I think you gave him that the day he brought us home with him. The only thing that's changed is that now you have a better excuse."

Sam contemplated that for a moment. He conceded that, "You're probably right. But at bare minimal we'll have some interesting stories to share with our kids someday because of it."

"My kids better have some _food_ to share with me, that's the tradeoff," Miles grumbled, or maybe it was only his stomach at the thought of real food. "What I wouldn't give…"

Though he was thoroughly engaged in his conversation, Bumblebee heard Miles's stray thoughts and turned towards him. Wordlessly, he pulled an apple out of his subspace and handed it to the teen. Miles took it with surprise, which prompted Bee to say, "I know it's probably not the same, but it's the best we can do here, I think," followed quickly by the obligatory, "Sorry."

"Naw, it's… cool," Miles thanked. Smiling with his optics, Bee returned to his conversation (Annabelle was asking about whether or not _they_ had parents). Miles raised impressed eyebrows at his friends. "That's convenient."

What was more convenient was that, shortly after Miles finished his apple and discarded the core, there was a casual knock against the med bay's doorframe.

A red, blue, and silver-gray mech stood there. Miles could barely believe the size of him – he was bigger than any mech he'd seen, yet somehow not as threatening as most; more impressive, perhaps, but not threatening. Making an educated guess – based on the descriptions Prowl had given, and the way the mech _didn't_ freak out at talking humans and go crazy and start shooting the place up – Miles assumed this was the ex-Autobot Commander.

"Prime!" the mechs practically chorused, with varying levels of enthusiasm.

"Hello, my friends. I'm pleased to see you've all made it here safely," Optimus greeted, acknowledging each being in the room one at a time. He gave even more purposeful looks to the humans. "Everything has been well since you've arrived?"

He received a bevy of nods and murmurs of confirmation from the mechs, except for Prowl. Optimus had only to tilt his head questioningly to prompt an explanation.

"I have been thinking, Prime, that perhaps such a relatively large gathering might draw unwanted attention. It's safe to assume we are being monitored somehow. Might not the fact that we all gathered here to meet you while you underwent a medical procedure, and saw fit to bring humans with us, be a little suspicious?" the tactician posited, concern present yet not too pressing.

"It is not so suspicious, Prowl – wouldn't you normally visit me if the opportunity arose? And want to bring a beloved companion with you?" asked Optimus with the faintest bit of humor.

"Of course. I merely meant to ward against giving any potential surveillance more fodder." The black and white mech observed his ex-teammates and then the small collection of clueless-looking humans. "We are certain that everything said in this room will be confidential and incapable of leaking unless one of us allows it?"

Wheeljack gave a chuckle, sensory fins flickering in a way reminiscent of a dying lightbulb. "Red's supposed to be the paranoid one, not you. And speaking of, didn't Red tamper with the Ark's base coding so non-comm and non-ship specific transmitters didn't work inside?"

"He did, but I think we might've deactivated that coding since the ceasefire," Ratchet admitted after a second of thought. "I highly doubt any of us, or the humans, has been outfitted with any sort of bugging materials from a third party, and it's highly unlikely anyone could have tampered with the Ark without Ironhide or myself noticing."

With almost every word, the humans grew more and more confused. Annabelle merely scrunched her face and looked exhaustedly off to the side when she realized she didn't know what they were talking about, Miles simply raised one expressive eyebrow, Mikaela tried and failed to divine the context that she was missing, and Sam pulled an openly baffled face. His mouth hung partially open, shifting as he, too, tried to figure out a puzzle that he didn't have all the pieces to, until he noticed a pair of blue optics on him.

Optimus surveyed the Earthlings and each of their expressions of confusion, stopping on Sam. The pair made eye-optic contact for only a split second before Optimus interrupted, "We are secure enough, or else I would not have thought to call you together. We have more important things to worry about than technicalities at the moment." To emphasize, he made a subtle yet purposeful nod in the direction of the humans.

Six sets of optics fastened on the three teens and young girl. While Sam and Mikaela almost instinctively sought out the more familiar gaze of Bumblebee, Miles stiffened and said, "Man, do you all have to look at us at the same time?"

"No, we do not have to, if that is what you prefer. But as a sign of respect, I believe we would like to," answered Prime. He waited for one of them to protest, but none did. Taking that as complacent permission, he went on, "I am afraid I have not introduced myself properly yet. I am Optimus Prime, and I am grateful to be able to meet with you."

"Uh," both Miles and Sam answered at the same time. Mikaela automatically responded with a, "likewise, I'm sure," that seemed to take her friends as well as herself aback. When he asked for their names, they each took their turn.

"How much has been covered since communication was first established?" Prime asked logistically.

"Uh… that you didn't know we could talk?" offered Sam, lamely. He was still caught up in the renewed absurdity of the situation (made even more absurd by a concerned yet encouraging look that Bumblebee was giving him).

"And you're in the middle of some ceasefire from this enormous war," Miles added. He gestured broadly at the gathering of mechs. "You guys are, uh, were, Autobots, and the Earth invaders were Decepticons."

"Who've never liked 'organics,'" Mikaela threw in, too, pausing over the unusual word Bumblebee had used to describe them.

Annabelle, noticing that all of her elders had spoken, decided to contribute, "And 'Hide's got a friend on Earth!" She beamed proudly, smiling at Ironhide.

The large mech nodded approvingly. "I assume you've also had an explanation as to _why_ the Cybertronians who are on Earth are there?" The three teenagers gave nods, motions, and mutters of confirmation. "You have my deepest apologies for everything that has happened to both you and your home; had I done a better job regulating the expeditions my people were making, this may never have happened.

"Regretful as I am – as I'm sure we all are – for any hope of rectifying the situation at all, we must focus on the present," he tried to make that perfectly clear. "Unless I've been horribly misled, you are all civilians?"

The friends exchanged glances.

"Yeah," Sam acted as a spokesperson, "we're about as 'civilian' as you can get."

The mechs exchanged glances – all except for Bumblebee, who looked sadly at the floor.

"One of my friends, who was one of my highest ranking officers during the war, is currently stationed in what he calls a 'safe point.' What do you know about these places?"

So the humans told them everything they knew, admitting that they had never personally been to a safe point or safe haven (Annabelle, however, claimed that she had lived in one with her mother and soldier father): they were scattered across different countries, usually well-concealed and operated by the armed forces; rumors had it that wireless networks still ran small-scale in those places, so they had the most up-to-date information (but even then it probably wasn't very up-to-date at all); civilians were encouraged to take refuge there; and Sam, Mikaela, and Miles had been on their way to a safe point with their families when they'd been captured.

"There's lots of 'em," Annabelle added when her elders had exhausted their knowledge. "Daddy and his friends said the people that protect 'em kill the bad robots. He showed me a piece of… uh… piece of…" She struggled for the word.

"Of what, youngling?" encouraged Ironhide.

"That," she pointed at him. The black mech, under the scrutiny of everyone else in the room, pointed confusedly at himself. "_That_," Annabelle said more emphatically, "the black stuff!"

Optics brightened with comprehension. "My armor?"

"Yeah, armor! He showed me bad robot armor," she finished triumphantly.

"Felled drones, I suspect," said Prime, to which Ratchet nodded with a grunt. "I'd like to think I would have heard about any mechs being killed."

Wheeljack broke his unofficial vow of silence and offered with a slight shrug and flickering of his fins, "Well, 'course, Primus only knows at this point, right? Would've thought word'd get through about sentient life on a planet, too. We've had ex-Bots there before, although with escorts. For them to not notice anything, it makes you wonder what else might slip our radars about that planet, huh?"

"Something important, in all probability," Prowl agreed.

Optimus sighed. When he noticed the confused expressions on the organic members of their group, he said, "There have been more than ex-Decepticons on your planet in the past, but those who visited were often strictly businessmechs. They would likely not try and look for unusual activity unless it was glaringly so. It would likely not be too difficult to fool visitors into thinking the planet uninhabited by sentient species, especially when visiting locations were selective and the visitors constantly escorted." He glanced at Bumblebee. "Had a trained scout visited, however…"

Bumblebee stared at the floor again, this time in embarrassment; his sheepish warbling revealed that much, even to the humans. Sam raised a brow at the exchange.

"Very well," said Prime suddenly, drawing everyone back. "As I have discussed with Jazz already, I feel the next step would be sending an envoy to contact higher-up Earth officials. From there we can discuss the true current state of your planet, and perhaps discover the real reasons for those mechs' interest in the place. I believe you are aware," Optimus confided, "that there are signs indicating that it is neither the pet trade or the abundance of resources that makes those mechs so interested in Earth."

As it was, the humans were not particularly 'aware' of that.

"Then what does?" asked Mikaela.

"That is what we must find out," Prime answered solemnly. "In order to do so, a dialogue will need to develop between your people and my people – preferably a very open one. But, in carrying out his mission, Jazz has put himself in a difficult position when it comes to bridging this barrier. He is in a safe point's supply post, where he is frequently surrounded by and observes the very military personnel that you four have mentioned."

Prowl gave a subtle intake, unsurprised by Jazz's willingness to put himself in compromising positions.

"I have made arrangements to send another mech to Earth. He will approach the humans in charge at the safe point where Jazz is located and explain the situation. Whenever trust is established, Jazz can come out of hiding and interact directly with the humans he's familiarized himself with. With their permission and guidance, it will probably be easier for him to navigate their intelligence systems," Prime predicted. "It should be much easier to establish a long-term plan of action after that."

Frowning a bit, Sam turned to his best friend and girlfriend, blinking once at Annabelle. Mikaela spoke up, "Who do you want to send to try and do that?"

"Who else but one of my best scouts?" Optimus replied, turning his optics to Bumblebee.

Bumblebee shuttered and unshuttered his optics several times. "Me? You want me to go to Earth?"

Prime gave a half-nod and said, "I believe you are assigned – or are going to be assigned – a developmental scouting trip in about half an orn's time. The only difference will be that now you will travel not to a potential colonial site, but to Earth. Your skills would be better utilized in something other than development in this case."

Bee let the reality of it sink in. He'd wanted to go to Earth for some time, to explore the alien planet and observe its inhabitants. It had been a long time now since he'd ever scouted or explored anything very meaningful – this would be a wonderful experience. The young mech clicked happily, already excited at being able to use his training again, and to meet more humans no less!

"Um, about that…" Sam drew their attention, snapping the mechs out of their reveries and thoughts. He quickly bit his lip afterwards. Bumblebee was looking so hopeful that the truth of the matter – which had jumped automatically into Sam's mind – seemed too harsh all of a sudden.

"Yeah, about that – they're gonna _shoot_ him. As in, open fire until he's dead, no questions asked. You do know that, right?" Miles provided where his best friend failed. All mechs gathered gave him their undivided attention, and for once, Miles could almost not care less. "If they see a shiny yellow mech waltzing up to a city or haven or _whatever_, they're targeting its ass and shooting it– way before it's close enough to ask them how they're doing and what they want.

"We don't even let strange cars near us most of the time, because we know you can do that weird changing thing. If he even tries _driving_ in there, they're gonna shoot him. He tries to say he's there to help? They're probably gonna let him stay around long enough for them to find a reason to shoot him, and then shoot him. Humans don't like mechs, don't trust them at all. And that's only how it was when we left!" Miles exclaimed. _Shit,_ he thought, _God only knows what else has happened since we've been gone… _"We've sorta been trained that the only way we interact with you guys is a 'kill or be killed' showdown, or to run for our lives."

Mikaela unconsciously nodded, Sam gave a helpless shrug and nod when Ironhide stared at him, and Annabelle craned her neck up to look at Miles because she found his arms – spread in the air after his animated explanation – entertaining.

Bumblebee shuttered his optics and stared briefly at a wall in thought. He whirred anxiously and then raised his gaze to Prime, clicking to get the larger mech's attention. The humans were left clueless as the pair warbled and ground gears back and forth for several seconds.

Whatever was said pleased the smaller mech, because his optics lit up and he chirruped lightly. Wheeljack gave a pleased-sounding whir, Ironhide gave a huffy grunt, Ratchet nodded, and Prowl blinked noncommittally.

Optimus gave a conclusive nod. He turned back to the collection of humans and gestured ever so slightly at Sam and Mikaela. "That is one of the reasons why the pair of you will be going with him."

Immediately thinking that he must have heard wrong, Sam repeated, "We're… what now?"

The red and blue mech smiled faintly. "You're going with him, to act as something like mediators and to help him understand his behavioral parameters. It's not often that I ask my scouts to work in completely unfamiliar and hostile areas, and never without some form of backup. Bumblebee would be served well to have the pair of you to model off of."

"You mean that we get to go home?" breathed Mikaela.

"Home to Earth, yes, but likely not to where you specifically used to live." Optimus glanced between them, calculating their amazed expressions. "You thought we would not let you return?"

"It's not that," Sam assured, even though, in the back of his mind… "But what about… what about Miles? Annabelle?"

"They will remain here for now. We can't allow all of you to simply vanish – it would draw far too much attention. Since Bumblebee will already be gone, however, it will not be as noticeable, particularly if he's claimed to be bound for an already semi-settled planet and brought you with him." Prime turned his full attention to Miles and said, "It may be more difficult to explain your absence for some time. Since Prowl was once my second-in-command, I don't doubt that he is being monitored relatively closely. In a successive trip to Earth you can be returned. Until then, I am afraid you will have to keep most of this discovery quiet. Annabelle should remain for many of the same reasons."

"I guess that makes sense," Miles conceded after a second. The thought of being able to go home was wonderful and all, but, "I've been away how many months? I'm sure a little while longer won't be too bad, especially since we've been upgraded from pet status."

Sam caught Miles's eyes, and they shared a covert smile. Quickly, Sam's smile turned into a partial frown.

"… How many months, exactly, have we been away?" he asked guardedly.

Bumblebee managed to give a convincing grimace without having a mouth. "You were held in that store for how many days before I took you?"

The store. It seemed so long ago now, yet also – impossibly – like it had happened yesterday. Sam and Mikaela made faces at one another as they tried to recall.

"What was it, like… ten days? Eleven?" Mikaela guessed.

"Depending on how you count it, Indy took me on the sixth or seventh day we spent there," Miles reminded them helpfully, quietly.

Sam nodded to his friends and then looked up at Bee. "So yeah, ten or eleven days or so – somewhere around there."

"Then, about… about nine and a half months," said Bumblebee at length. For him, a fraction of second, but for them…

Miles whistled half-heartedly. "That long? Shit – I mean, poop," he self-corrected after a moment, shooting a wary look at Annabelle. "I thought my sense of time had warped me into thinking it was five or six months. Nine and a _half_?"

"Almost ten," said Bee apologetically, looking desperately to Optimus for comfort. "I'm sorry," was his instinctive follow-up.

They all grew quiet then, allowing the humans to turn over the figure in their heads.

When a panel across the room beeped, not a single soul didn't jump or at least twist their heads.

Grumbling, Ratchet stood and started to cross the room. He paused a second later and turned back to the collection of mechs and humans. "There's a mech at the Ark doors; his left arm is injured. I can't turn him away."

"Then let him in," said Prime permissively. "We're merely a collection of reminiscing old friends who decided to bring their humans along with them. As long as that doesn't make him uncomfortable…"

Ratchet didn't bother nodding or saying anything in affirmation. He did, however, raise a hand to his head and make contact with the stranger, permitting him entrance to the Ark and feeding him directions to the medical bay.

"You'll have to forgive us yet again," Optimus requested calmly of the humans. Sam, Mikaela, and Miles all nodded fervently. "We will have to continue this discussion later."

The reassurance came right in time. Not four seconds later a mech with dark blue armor and red optics walked into the medical bay. His right arm had a noticeable slice in it, with a caking of blue gunk framing it. After one look around, he said something in a relatively energetic tone, as best as the humans could gauge.

Miles tensed at the color of the optics, but was somewhat calmed by how kindly the collection of ex-Autobots seemed to react to the newcomer. Mikaela reminded him in a whisper, "Not all Reds are pure evil."

Her voice still redrew the mech's fleeting attention. Dark Blue wiggled a few fingers at the collection of humans in a wave, then said something to which Bumblebee, Prowl, and Ironhide responded immediately, and Wheeljack as well after a moment. He answered them back, and began moving towards the table where the humans were.

Ratchet jumped in and demanded Dark Blue's attention just as he started to crouch by the table. The humans, who had come to terms with the fact that the curious mech was probably about to fondle them, were grateful when the medic gestured at another table. Dark Blue warbled and wandered away, clearly following whatever Ratchet's instructions had been and leaving the humans in peace.

The following thirty or so minutes of repair were some of the strangest that the teenagers had ever faced. Annabelle was blissfully unaware, to the point where she began calling out to Ironhide and only silenced once the mech had picked her up – no amount of hushes from Mikaela, Miles, or Sam had done the trick. Beyond that, the ex-Autobots engaged each other in conversation as thought nothing were amiss, and the humans suddenly found it harder than ever to act like domesticated animals.

Eventually, though, the repairs were done, and the mech was on his way. He pet Mikaela on the head as he left and settled for wiggling his fingers at the others. After that, Dark Blue gave a somewhat lengthy farewell to the group – to Prime in particular – and was gone.

The others didn't switch back to English even after the mech was long gone. Instead, they continued to speak in Cybertronian, giving the humans and each other meaningful looks.

The teens wouldn't realize until much later the obvious suspicion that some type of bug had been placed, preventing further discussion (and explaining while Bumblebee had pleadingly shook his head at Sam when he tried to ask what was going on).

Even though no one could find any bugs, the discussion never resumed. Instead, Bumblebee would fill Sam and Mikaela in later, and the same with Prowl and Miles. They'd all been disappointed, but were comforted by one thought.

For better or for worse, they were all sure that this wasn't the last time they'd be speaking with one another and with mechs who were on their side.

* * *

"Déjanos en paz, por Dios, déjanos en paz," the man mumbled under his breath. He studied the silver sports car. "No sé, pero cuando te veo…"

"Will you stop threatening the damn car?" someone shouted.

The first man looked irately over his shoulder. "There's something not right about this thing – 'toy serio!" He looked back at the car. "Te miro," he warned before drawing away. "I don't care what you coños say, that thing ain't normal. Could be possessed or something… gives me the fuckin' creeps…"

_Sorry 'bout that_, apologized Jazz silently. He would've been grinning sheepishly had he the ability to at the moment. Jazz didn't normally have a problem with creeping people out and making them feel like they were paranoid, although he usually did things like that on purpose. For once, he could claim legitimate innocence.

He wondered idly how the humans would react to a mech showing up in just over a week?

The patrol men, all shifts, had been abuzz something fierce three days prior. Word had just gotten through about an attack, large scale, from across the ocean – somewhere in Northern Africa. The news might have been new to this settlement, but the actual attack had taken place almost a month and a half ago.

"Survivors said they saw two of those bastards systematically razing the damn place," someone had growled, striking the card-playing table with a fist. "Systematically razing – what'd we do to deserve that, huh? What the _hell_ do they want with us?"

Jazz wished he had a definitive answer. At first, the resources had seemed reason enough. Then, the resources and pet trade seemed to be a solid answer. But, with all the stray coding and the unequal dismantling of the native networks – and Jazz and his team had certainly taken notice of that, no doubt about it – it was so obvious that _something_ more had to be at the root of this. The only question was, what?

Jazz hated not having all the answers.

* * *

Half an orn separated Sam and Mikaela from their planet. It was about eight days of planning and preliminary Earth lessons, not to mention rapidly mounting excitement.

It was over before anyone knew it.

Mikaela and Sam were to be tucked away, carefully concealed, in what would have passed as an emergency survival kit. From there, Bumblebee would carry them and the rest of the items to the initial launching ship, where he would meet with his fellow development prospectors and carry on as though he were still heading for one of the potential colonial sites. They'd be taken far from Verita Pax on this ship, and eventually they would board a much smaller craft. Like the other developers, Bee would board the individual craft and depart, still under the pretense of following the transwarp path to the original site.

This craft, however, had a few modifications programmed into it: a secretly authorized trajectory towards Earth, as well as a changeable ship code. Prime had explained, Sam and Mikaela would later find out, that he had acquired the help of an ex-Con businessmech who would supposedly be visiting Earth at the same time they were heading there. That way, if the Earth-stationed mechs detected the approaching ship, it would already have a working explanation for being there; Bumblebee had the mech's frequencies to pass as this Payload guy if anyone hailed him on the way in.

Bumblebee didn't actually need much of anything for the trip, no matter how long he was going to be staying on the planet. Assuming he received no life-threatening injuries, the cubes of medical grade energon Ratchet had sent him away with wouldn't be needed for more years than Sam or Mikaela had thought possible. Any other items fit safely into his subspace, including the signal enhancer that permitted radio communication across such distances.

Mikaela and Sam didn't exactly need a whole lot, either. Other than the totally unplanned alien abduction they had suffered, this was probably the only trip either of them had never really had to pack for. A couple sheets of fabric for comfort and a couple packets of food and fruits – just in case they got hungry – were all that they needed to shove in their little hideaway.

Startlingly, they were informed that from initial launch until they were able to step back onto Earth soil, it would only be a few hours.

"You can't even really drive across the state in that time," Mikaela had said, floored.

But hey – that's what alien technology got you.

"Hopefully none of you gets shot," Miles had told them in parting eight days prior. "That'd suck so bad."

Yeah, the teenage couple thought now as they were carefully sealed into their hidey hole for the next three or four hours or so – not getting shot would be nice. They were going home, it seemed, with the same speed, suddenness, and amount of surrealism with which they had left. Despite the uncanny resemblance to the way time had passed when they were captured, Sam and Mikaela could scarcely be more excited… but they were pretty damn sure that getting killed would put a real damper on that.

* * *

**A.N.**

Well, thank the powers that be that THAT is out of the way. Better things await, I swear. Summer's here, I have very few commitments, and I have a good chunk of the next chapter already somewhat written. It should be out, 'for better or for worse,' relatively soon. Many of you have already made guesses, but do you care to take an educated stab at saying who gets to debut next time?

Also, remember to a) locate and report any stray typos, and b) review if at all possible.

P.S. In relation to reviews, please try and be signed-in if you have an account. I definitely don't mind anonymous reviews, but sometimes I like to be able to respond to reviews (particularly if he/she asks a question in it), and not being able to always makes me sad for a minute.


	20. Homecoming

Title: Property Of

Rating: T

Summary: During Cybertronian 'peace,' ex-Cons hide the sentience of and sell humans as pets to secure Earth. Sam and Mikaela might just be the first to grasp the reality of the situation alongside their new owner.

Chapter: Homecoming

I was unreasonably excited over the fact that, before I made a few edits to previous chapters, the word count after chapter 19 was uploaded was '180,081.' That palindrome made me much happier than it should have (and realizing the edits had changed the word count made me sadder than it should have).

A nod of recognition to **Faecat**, who graciously recommended 'Property Of' in a chapter of her own fic, 'Science and Fiction.' I appreciate the mention, and thought I could return the favor.

And finally, another 'thank you' goes out to **PyroDea**, my unofficial post-upload beta reader (or so it would seem). As always, there are never enough thanks to be given for the care taken to actually mark where typos are and then bring them to my attention. So… thanks!

* * *

Being robbed of sight was not a pleasant sensation. It was awfully dark inside the emergency kit hideaway, with the only light sources being a dim bulb and several extremely small, indirect breathing pathways that connected the inside of the container to the outside. There was something unnerving about not being able to see anything more than a small cubicle.

At least neither Sam nor Mikaela was claustrophobic. If they had been, this would've been sheer torture.

"Think we arrived at the spaceport yet?" whispered Mikaela. She fiddled pointlessly with her hands and leaned more heavily onto Sam's right side. He shifted and tried to fix the edges of the sheet that she'd ruffled.

"Probably," Sam whispered back, stretching his legs out. They reached the opposite wall, and he had to tuck his feet in a little. "It got a lot louder a minute ago."

That was true, Mikaela acknowledged with a quiet "hmm." Sound, too, was imperfect – muffled through the walls – but it was a lot more reliable than sight. About one minute earlier the incomprehensible buzz of alien life from beyond the hideaway had grown louder and more consistent. The likeliest reason for that was that Bumblebee had reached the launch station.

"You know," Mikaela changed the subject abruptly while beginning to investigate the hem of her shirt, "I wonder if it would've killed them to make every piece of clothing they gave us out of this material. It's so much… cozier."

Sam studied the light blue garments that he and Mikaela now sported for the umpteenth time that day. First and foremost, the color was definitely a breath of fresh air compared to the gray-green and light green things they had been wearing for, apparently, the last nine and a half months (pretty much ten by now). Neither was positive about the material, but it was a lot softer then the greenish clothes – a lot like the fabric squares they'd been given for bedding both as pets in Bee's home and now as stowaways. The top and bottoms were still baggier than what they would've worn back home, but a lot less baggy than what they'd grown used to off-planet.

No, it probably wouldn't have done much damage for the mechs to make all of the clothes for humans out of higher quality fabric. Ultimately, it was simply one more insult they'd dealt with.

"Hey," Sam called Mikaela's attention back to him after a few minutes. She stopped playing with her shirt and looked at him. "Pretty soon, we'll get to wear normal clothes again. And underwear and shoes!"

"And bras," Mikaela thought mistily aloud. In perfect synchronization, both she and her boyfriend glanced down at her chest. "I took them for granted before, but never again." Her misty expression turned into one of open happiness. "And there will be a real bathroom, with a real toilet and a real shower, with a mirror – maybe one of those ones that have shelves behind them. Mm, and on those shelves: a comb, a brush, a razor, some shaving cream, tweezers, a nail file, a lifetime supply of extra soap… toothbrush, floss, toothpaste, and q-tips next to the sink… extra shampoo and conditioner hidden away somewhere…" She sighed. "At this point, that might as well be heaven."

Sam agreed, "I could go for a shave and a haircut right now," he gestured at his pathetic excuse for a beard and moustache (why was he incapable of growing facial hair? Miles looked like a wild man, and here he could still pass for a respectable member of society!). "But it's the food that I'm excited about."

Because honestly, apples and pears and oranges – no matter how awesome they were compared to the stuff in those packets – were still the same few things over and over again. That wasn't even mentioning the fact that they'd been drinking water, and water only, for almost ten months now.

It was going to be so awesome.

Two very purposeful taps above their heads caught the humans' attention.

Two taps meant they were supposed to be silent and still because someone was checking out the 'emergency kit,' then three taps were supposed to let them know that they were safe again. Four taps would mean they'd boarded the second ship and were about to be let out.

Mikaela and Sam waited out the two-tap phase by hugging one another and sinking to the floor of the secret compartment. Admittedly, they didn't have to drop to the floor, but they got the urge to and ran with it.

Some five nerve-wracking minutes passed before they heard – and felt – the three taps signaling that the coast was clear. By this point, neither wanted to move. Instead, they continued to 'lounge' in the tight space.

"There'll be actual beds, too," Sam pointed out. "With actual cushions."

"One for each of us?" asked Mikaela, smiling with her eyes.

Sam pouted. "I was hoping that one would be enough." He glanced around at the hiding place, again thankful that he didn't have claustrophobia. "This place is pretty small, and we seem to be doing just fine sharing tight spaces."

Mikaela rolled her eyes playfully, and couldn't stop from smiling when Sam rolled onto his side and kissed her. It was a brief kiss, yet managed to convey to both of them how crucial they'd been in keeping each other sane. Not for the first time, Sam was reminded of how awesome he felt having won the girl of his dreams; not for the first time, Mikaela was reminded of how lucky she was that he'd offered her a ride home that day, and that she'd given him a chance. Alien abduction and the more-or-less enslavement of their species aside, at least they'd had each other.

Laughing ever so quietly, Mikaela confided, "I think one bed should be fine."

Then, mostly without warning, she adopted a solemn face and made sure Sam was looking at her. "I mean, assuming we aren't killed on the way there or something, of course."

Sam studied her for a moment before raising a jokingly haughty eyebrow and responding, "Well, of _course_ assuming we aren't killed. That you feel the need to mention it insults my intelligence." To finish it off, he snobbishly raised his chin up in the air and tried to give a superior-sounding snort. His ridiculousness, however, suddenly dawned on him, and he fell into hushed laughter before he could pull off that finishing touch.

Against her will – and despite the fact that it wasn't really that funny – Mikaela broke down into faint laughter. The prospect of dying had never been so humorous before.

* * *

The entire time that the security mech looked through the 'kit,' Bumblebee's processors turned nervously. Luckily, his anxiety was unfounded. The red-gazed mech was barely glancing at the contents, and never poked through the items at all. The fact that some of the objects were not real and were hollowed out into a carrying compartment clearly never even registered to the mech. Not that the mech had any reason to be suspicious, thought Bee; there was no reason for anyone to suspect that a single thing was amiss.

"_**Part of the land scouting crew?**_" the worker asked, closing the 'kit' without looking at it.

"_**Hmm?**_" buzzed Bumblebee. He replayed the question in his processors before responding, relieved, "_**Yes, I am.**_"

The mech warbled back, "_**Good luck with that. I hear you're supposed to be looking for places with more expansion resources. If that's true, I wish you and yours the best. Primus knows we'll always need new resources with the AllSpark lost.**_"

Limited resources were, sadly, a serious concern. But, their species would deal with that again when the time came – which, Bee mused seriously as he thanked the ex-Con and reclaimed his precious cargo, might be a problem they had to face sooner rather than later if Earth was removed from the picture as a source.

Bumblebee tapped the top of the secret carrier three times to let the humans know they could relax.

No stranger to spaceports, Bumblebee was very efficient with his time. He was on the initial ship a few breems before takeoff, settled and comfortable and cradling his 'kit' as levelly as he could on his lap. A couple other mechs on board commented that it was an unusually large emergency kit, to which Bee responded that he was only being careful. No one questioned that.

Had there been anyone aboard the ship that knew Bumblebee closely, he or she might have thought it odd that he was being so antisocial: the moment he stepped onto the first ship, he found the smaller vessel he was going to be getting into, sat outside it, and waited patiently. Fortunately no one aboard really knew him.

Before he knew it – despite the fact that a good quarter joor had already elapsed – the intercom message went out advising the scouters to board their secondary ships.

Just as before, Bee boarded and settled himself in as quickly as possible.

It was several more breems before they were given launch clearance. Bumblebee's was the eleventh of fifteen vessels to launch. He made sure to hold the kit especially steady throughout the launch sequence, and then relaxed some as the autopilot began the altered course it was set to.

Bee waited a couple breems more, until after the first few transwarps had been completed, before augmenting the ship code to match Payload's. The alteration took about half a breem.

Six transwarps later – and thousands of light-years away from Verita Pax – Bumblebee felt safe opening the 'kit' and its secret compartment. Who was most eager to have the thing opened was up for debate, since Sam might've been fine with continuing to rest alongside Mikaela, Mikaela normally would've felt the same except for the fact that she was starting to feel cramped, and Bumblebee had hated himself the whole time that he knew they were holed up in there. He'd made it perfectly clear he didn't want them in cages anymore, and this thing was significantly smaller than even their carrier had been.

As a result, Bumblebee found himself eagerly helping first Sam and then Mikaela out of their hiding spot. Once they were steadied and stretching on the ship's control panel, Bee took the few real items out of the emergency kit and subspaced them separately from the holder itself. _Now_, hopefully, they wouldn't have to be constrained like that ever again.

Sam began wandering the short expanse of the supersized alien dashboard at Mikaela's side. She was more than interested in the foreign mechanics – itching for the opportunity to peel back the console cover to see the intimate workings beneath – and he was intrigued by the glowing scanners, buttons, and Cybertronian symbols that littered the ship.

"We won't interfere with anything by being up here, will we?" asked Mikaela, her gaze lingering on a particularly complex panel before switching to Bumblebee. That he had the potential to mess something up had never dawned on Sam, and he looked speedily at Bee.

"No," he assured them, internally smiling at their curiosity. "All the guidance and piloting systems are locked. You probably shouldn't be up there during entry into Earth's atmosphere, though – for your safety, not the ship's safety."

Sam absently nodded. "And how long until that happens?"

Bumblebee, who was counting down every astrosecond of the ETA he'd developed, readily told his human companions, "Approximately one hour, slightly less." Then, wondering if perhaps they hadn't realized how much time had passed, he added, "It's already been a bit more than three hours since the initial launch. Between the warping on this ship and the first one, we're much closer to Earth now than we are to Verita Pax."

Technology was a funny thing, thought Sam. He recalled – however imperfectly – a quote by someone or another who had said that, after a point, technology and magic were pretty much indecipherable. The teleportation thing, as far as Sam was concerned, had reached that point.

"Why was it we couldn't just teleport straight there again?" he questioned.

Taking in a fresh system of air, Bee explained, "There are limits to transwarp stability. After a certain distance, the structural stability of whatever is being transwarped becomes compromised. Courses are plotted out as a series of smaller warps in order to avoid that danger.

"Once upon a time, though," Bumblebee conceded to Sam and Mikaela's surprise, "we are fairly certain our kind could open space bridges capable of safely transwarping any distance. There are legends of space bridges connecting Cybertron and very distant planets, from the age when a whole class of mechs were designed to search out worlds meeting certain criteria to use for energy."

Mikaela frowned slightly, without being truly upset. "You guys have been doing the 'take someone else's planet for your own gain' thing for a while, then?"

"Not really," defended Bee dejectedly. "The planets weren't allowed to have life on them if they were going to be used; it never affected anyone accept for us." Possibly to make himself feel better, he added, "And that practice ended a long, long time ago – back before the first war even started."

"We're supposed to be talking about teleporting right now anyway," Sam cut in, hoping to break the growing air of unease. "Magic space alien stuff. Which, by the way," he addressed Bumblebee, "you guys should totally consider sharing with us feeble humans after this thing is sorted out. I'm sure you guys could maximize energy efficiency, cure a bunch of diseases, the whole shebang."

'Shebang?' Mikaela mouthed back at him in disbelief.

Bumblebee weakly shrugged. "There are a bunch of regulations for sharing technology with other species, but… I'll make sure Prime considers it."

After all, it would be the least that they could do. Unfortunately, that made the assumption that the current fiasco _could_ definitively be 'sorted out.' Prowl didn't seem to think it was possible; neither did Optimus.

They waited a couple silent minutes before Mikaela prompted, "So how much longer do we have left _now_?"

Unwilling to sit through an hour of 'are we there yet,' Sam suggested that they play a game to pass the time. When it became clear that they were ill-equipped to play any games that he knew of, Mikaela had an interesting idea. She proposed that she and Sam could describe Earth things – animals, plants, objects – and then Bumblebee could try and project on one of the walls what he thought the things must look like based on their descriptions.

It was a pretty appropriate suggestion, if Mikaela didn't say so herself, so all three enthusiastically agreed to give it a try. There were some interesting results.

A Christmas tree became a razor-sharp death tree topped with an angel/star hybrid (the teens couldn't choose), too-bright lights, and ridiculous ornaments; a giraffe became a polka-dotted horse with a neck even more absurdly long than normal; Shiva – and here, Sam apologized to every Hindu person in the world – became a blue human with extra arms spread out of his body in the same positioning as a spider's, clothed in actual gold, with a demonic face and laser beams coming out of his many hands, obliterating a small town.

In retrospect, Sam admitted he shouldn't have mentioned lasers in his description of the unfamiliar deity.

Other things, Bee got pretty spot on. His interpretation of what boots must look like could have been a real fashion trend; his version of a dog – despite the unnatural coloring – could have been a cross between a German Shepherd in the face, a Basset hound in the ears, a collie in the tail, a Great Dane with the size of its paws, and a mastiff in terms of sheer body mass.

They all enjoyed playing with the digital dog's appearance. Sam tried to give continuous feedback in an attempt to turn the image into a Chihuahua; Mikaela loved trying to explain her conflicting feelings about the Witwicky family pet, because she loved Mojo but disliked the breed as a whole; and Bumblebee was fascinated by the revelation that humans had kept various pets of their own.

Bumblebee had a brand new list of things to ask not only 'his' humans about, but the new humans he was going to meet.

Mikaela's game, surprisingly, ate up the rest of their time. Between the descriptions of the things, Bee's renderings of them, and then the subsequent discussions about how they related to either Sam or Mikaela, the hour flew by. Before any of them realized, a purple-green light began flickering in the corner of the console.

The flicker drew Bumblebee's surprised attention.

"We're almost there," he announced, dazed. A few scans of the control panel revealed that they were about to come out of their last transwarp before the final approach to the planet.

Both teenagers spun in place, unconsciously looking for a window.

"Really? Can we see it yet?" asked Mikaela.

"In a moment, I think…" said Bee. He leaned over them conscientiously and pressed a few buttons, bringing up a display screen. "When we come out of the last warp."

They all waited with rapt attention.

Then, in a way so sudden that Sam at first swore that it had to be fake, the blue-white off-sphere that was Earth appeared instantly on the monitor.

It actually made Mikaela gasp.

"The astronauts' pictures don't do it justice," she mumbled, in pure awe.

Struck into silence, Sam was left only nodding. That was, until he noticed how rapidly the size of the planet was growing, expanding beyond the screen. "It's getting big pretty fast, isn't it?"

"We are moving very, very quickly," Bumblebee agreed. He paused before saying, "I… would feel better if you let me hold you during atmospheric entry, which will be starting very soon. Most of the force should be deflected, but I don't want to take any risks."

The teens had seen one too many space movies – and one too many NASA specials on television – to underestimate the danger of reentry. They quickly acquiesced, happy to have the mech's protection as he let them get comfortable against his stomach plating and then carefully locked his arms in front of them.

"This is really happening," one of them – or all of them – whispered.

Gentle rumbling began to quake the small craft. Almost undetectable at first, it rapidly grew more prominent. More lights on the control panel flashed, indicating reentry protocols roaring to life: temperature and force diffusion, activation of reverse engines to help slow them so that they could land safely on the Earth's surface, and stabilization of the ship's internals. Cloaking systems had already been running.

Reentry was a lot faster than Sam or Mikaela had imagined possible, although in retrospect that wasn't so surprising; everything else had been happening so quickly at that time. After the rumbling started, it took only a couple minutes until the whole craft gave a sharp, firm jostle alongside a deep thudding sound that reverberated throughout the ship.

Sam, who had had his eyes shut the entire time, cracked his eyelids open.

"Was… that it?" he asked.

"It's over?" Mikaela doubled him, blinking around.

Bumblebee cautiously loosened his arms. He, too, looked around. Blue optics scanned the ship's screens as they began to print data and figures. Even as he read, he lowered Sam and Mikaela to the floor. New data registering atmospheric conditions and the ship's external status confirmed the simple, already known truth.

"Yes." He stood and then forced his optics away from the screens and onto the waiting teenagers. "You're home."

No one seemed to know what to say next.

Mikaela broke the silence by suggesting, in a tone much calmer than the words themselves probably called for, "Well, don't keep us waiting – open this ship up."

Bumblebee found some of his wits and turned quickly to the control panel. He pressed a single button, entered a single code, and then a wall to their left hissed softly with hydraulics. A line of light appeared and grew along the seam of a well-concealed sliding exit.

Mikaela and Sam rushed to the opening door. Bee was a little more tentative about moving.

When the door retracted fully, bright daylight flooded the inside of the small vessel. Sam inhaled when the sun hit him, like he'd never felt it before. Mikaela took a deep breath, deciding that Earth air had a very different feel to it than what she'd been breathing for months now. Slowly, Bumblebee came to stand behind them, bracing a hand on the doorframe as he took in the strange landscape for the first time.

The area was incredibly lightly forested, although it grew much thicker off in one direction. Brown soil peeked through faded-green grass, wildflowers, and weeds, while a rim of rich brown dirt framed the ship. The sky's light blue was spotted, sparingly, with fluffy cumulus clouds. A light scent of pine needle and bark – something completely new to Bumblebee – dotted the breeze. In the distance, a couple elongated notes whistled through the air.

Sam was overcome with excitement by the call of another living creature.

"Earth!" Sam cried in a hushed voice, flinging his hands into the air. The teen jumped the small gap between the ship and the ground without warning, much to Bumblebee's alarm. Bee's hand reached out automatically, but he stopped when he recognized the futility of it. Sam was already jump-running across the ground to the place where the dirt unsettled by the craft's landing did not cover the plants. Sam dropped to the ground and lay sprawled out, face down, on the soil of his home world. "Oh, grass – I thought I'd never see you again…"

Bumblebee only tore his concerned optics away from the display when Mikaela left his side and hopped down to rejoin her planet as well. She did not perform the same exaggerated ritual, but she did turn in a complete circle slowly and reverently. Bumblebee thought he saw her eyes watering.

"Are you alright?" Bee finally voiced, wary. He braced a hand on the doorframe and leaned partially out into the alien atmosphere. His sensors were quietly going crazy, logging all the new information and trying to adapt to the new environmental stimuli so that they weren't constantly being put on alert. He scanned the alien landscape that he'd only seen pictures or read descriptions of.

This… _this_ was Earth.

Sam flopped over in place and raised himself on his elbows, so that he was half sitting and half lounging. "I never thought I'd get to see this place again. The only thing that could've been better was landing in Tranquility itself. God, I hope those guys didn't do too bad a number on the place."

"Is 'Tranquility' a special location? Is it unlike this?" asked Bee.

The teens regarded him quietly. "We never told you that's where we lived?" Mikaela asked in turn. Bee shook his head once, leaning even further out of the craft. The air was more humid than he was used to. "Well, it was the city we lived in. Some, um, Decepticons, I guess, were heading towards it the day we were caught. We were evacuating when they got us, remember?"

"I'd like to know if my house or school is still standing," Sam added. "But yeah, it was a city, you know? So it didn't exactly have this many trees or so many 'nature' things. I think the only reason people would be setting up camp somewhere like this would be for cover and secrecy."

Bee chirped quietly in understanding, forgetting that it would have been more understandable had he just said "oh." But, neither human seemed to mind, so he tried not to, either. Instead, he turned his head to focus on a small, feathered creature – a bird – that had just flown back and perched on one of the nearby trees. Bumblebee had not seen so much organic life in one place for some time now.

"Well?" Sam prompted then, reclaiming the scout's attention. Bee looked at him curiously, and blinked when Sam gestured at the hand that gripped the doorframe. "Are you gonna come out and give Earth a nice, big 'hello,' or are you just going to stand there and gawk at it?"

Bumblebee suddenly realized that he had been stalling. He wasn't certain why, since he was a scout – exploring new surroundings was his specialty. Perhaps, he thought subconsciously, he had been worried that the planet would reject him due to the actions the rest of his species had taken against its inhabitants. However, Sam and Mikaela were both watching him expectantly now, and he knew he had no logical reason not to exit the ship.

Carefully, Bumblebee extended one foot to the ground. When he put even the slightest weight onto it, his claw-like protoform toes sunk into the topsoil that the force of impact, albeit relatively light, had loosened. He whirred at the strangeness of it. It took him a couple tries before he actually dared to press his weight onto the limb and allow it to sink the couple inches it was capable of into the alien planet. The second foot was easier to place, although it, too, sunk into the ground like it never would have on the hard rock and metal of Cybertron and the colonies.

He was completely standing on the alien world now. Bee clicked quietly to himself and looked all around again. It was difficult refraining from tapping his fingers together nervously.

Mikaela was smiling at him, Sam grinning. "See?" said Sam. "Earth doesn't bite… much."

The idiom was lost on the Autobot, who glanced briefly at the soil as though expecting it to try and nibble on him.

Bumblebee took several more steps away from the ship, following a path similar to Sam's. The further he got from the landing site, the less his feet sank into the ground. Still, he made a mental note to try and reduce the number of toes he had after acquiring an Earthen alternative mode, because he was certain the multiple sources of impact were increasing his tendency to break the planet's fragile surface. A broader foot surface area would reduce that, he surmised.

"Jazz is only transmitting his location very vaguely, to avoid a signal interception," Bumblebee explained as he stepped carefully onto the grass Sam had expressed such a blatant love for. "If the defenders of your kind are trying to hide themselves, and they think I'm a threat, how should we find and approach them?"

It had seemed so easy in theory: land, follow Jazz's signal, locate the humans in charge, start explaining things to them, and work out a truce with at least the individuals found. Now, faced with the inherent wariness that came with again being the alien on a foreign planet – especially one where the dominant species was unlikely to be able to distinguish him from their hated foes – Bumblebee found the task more daunting than he had previously.

Sam tilted his head to the side and looked down, deep in thought.

"We can walk in that direction," Mikaela answered easily enough and with a small shrug. "We'll just go extra slowly and stay on alert. If he's monitoring a safe haven, then there are definitely going to be human patrols active in the area. We're bound to cross paths eventually, and when we do, we can just… talk to them or whatever."

"Yeah – they wouldn't attack us if we made it obvious we weren't trying to sneak up on them," Sam backed his girlfriend up.

Bumblebee beeped at them and nodded, trusting their plan of action.

"Which way?" asked Mikaela. "We probably shouldn't stay here too long, just in case." There was no point to milling about the middle of a forest beyond the sentimental value of it anyway, Mikaela added silently.

Consulting both the directions Jazz had given as well as the spy's signal, Bee pointed off into the line of trees to his right. "I don't have an accurate source signal, but based on the speed you usually walk, I predict that it would take at least an hour – perhaps as much as two hours – before we reach Jazz. How far out would you expect patrols to be? If… if you even know. I know you've never been to a safe point, so it's not your fault if you don't know," he made sure to recognize.

Mikaela and Sam made silent questioning gestures at one another. Sam eventually, looking uncertain while thoughtfully shrugging, said to Bumblebee, "We don't know for sure, but I'm willing to bet that they wouldn't let any strangers get within more than ten, fifteen – maybe twenty – minutes of the place."

"They might have something even farther out, too," warned Mikaela, trying to be realistic about it. "But I'm with Sam. I can't imagine they'd have anything looking for us more than thirty minutes out."

That would give Bee at least several good breems worth of studying his surroundings while he walked. The scout was eager for more time, and hoped he'd have it soon enough.

"Lead the way," gestured Sam with a sweep of his arms.

Bee was very conscious of his sub-optimal foot structure as he made his way towards the trees. He consciously determined what speed and length his strides needed to be to match the humans' usual, comfortable pace, and double checked that they were, indeed, coming with him. It was a silly thing to double check; not only were they happy to follow, they were eager to keep pace side by side with him.

They may not have been in their most usual environment, but the mech could see the confidence that being back on their home planet had given Sam and Mikaela – even though he doubted they'd be able to see it for themselves.

And so they began to walk.

Honestly, Sam didn't know if he'd ever walked this much at once in his life… and definitely not in the woods. Yeah, the makeshift shoes that one of the mechs had designed for them (after a discussion about how human feet didn't normally mesh so well with ground covered in tree needles and roots and sharp pebbles) made the ordeal way better than it would've been otherwise, but their soles were still rather thin. He could feel the twisted roots as he stepped on them, feel the small rocks that he navigated through.

In addition, Sam had almost forgotten about weather: humid, hot weather, to be precise. He and Mikaela were used to much hotter and much more humid, but he realized now that he'd been spoiled in Bumblebee's care. Never once had it gotten hot, and humidity was always more or less perfect.

Sun was another thing. Somehow it had managed to escape his notice for the past almost-ten months, but whichever star had provided the light in the colony was weaker than Earth's beloved Sun. Outside of Bee's home, no natural light was strong enough to make either teenager squint. They had missed, of course, the distinct feeling of sunlight hitting and warming their skin, yet they hadn't missed the discomfort that usually accompanied it.

All of that disappeared into the background. Sam couldn't care less, and neither could Mikaela. For all they cared, it could've been raining and they could be trenching through ankle-deep mud while gale-force winds blew forest debris into their hair and eyes.

It was Earth, and the phrase 'home planet' had never made more sense to them than it did now.

They happily reminisced throughout the walk. Bumblebee listened intently as Mikaela recalled the first time she'd ever gone hiking with her family – back when she was only four or five – and how much of a disaster it had been. Apparently she'd seen a deer, gotten excited, and ran off to try and catch it. In her excitement she hadn't paid attention to the ground, tripped over a broken branch, and landed in a thorn bush.

"All I remember is that it hurt," she reassured Bumblebee when he paused in sympathy. "I can't remember the pain itself anymore – only that it hurt at the time."

"I've never been hiking. My parents are garden freaks, but that's where their affair with nature ends," Sam said with a roll of his eyes. "Wherever they are now, I bet they did some landscaping when they got there."

When Bumblebee asked about landscaping and its purpose, Sam reluctantly tried to explain. However, he was interrupted multiple times, because Bumblebee found each new bird, chipmunk, and squirrel utterly fascinating. Even a particularly large beetle that stood out on a tree trunk demanded his attention for a few seconds before he remembered he wasn't supposed to be focusing on wildlife yet.

Not that Mikaela or Sam minded! They were entertained by his attentiveness, if nothing else, and were happy to explain things to him. He, in turn, explained that normally he'd be able to use wireless networks to locate the information he was after, but was having difficulty with the dismantled human systems.

"Hey," Sam broke a rare moment of silence about an hour into the trek. He tilted his head back to regard Bumblebee. "Are you going to turn into something while you're here?"

Bumblebee tilted his head curiously at him. "Turn into something?" Before he had a chance to answer, Bee understood. "Oh! Do you mean, will I adopt an Earth disguise?" Sam nodded; Mikaela looked instantly thoughtful and interested in the possibilities. For whatever reason, Bumblebee had forgotten that they knew Cybertronians were capable of full-figure transformations. "Of course. Jazz has already sent me the design specifications of several vehicles he thought I might like."

"How many?" Sam prompted.

"He's physically pre-scanned two vehicles for me, and found the digital specs of five more," Bee shared with them.

Mikaela bit her lip in thought. "I'm guessing either sports cars or military vehicles, right? Speed or fighting power?"

"Yes. All sporting cars so far; they are much more my style than military vehicles symbolically as well as visually," Bee said.

This seemed to please Sam. "The only car I ever owned was a sports car," he said, poking a strange fungus growing on the log he was stepping over with his toe. "An old Camaro, if that means anything to you."

The scout was about to admit that it didn't mean anything to him, when he remembered the branding on one of the pre-scanned cars Jazz had sent him. Wait a second…

He chirred amusedly to himself. "I doubt it's the same model if it's a series, but the specs of one of the cars Jazz sent me belonged to a Camaro."

Gaping, Sam looked up at Bee. "No way!" Mikaela echoed him. "I'm not telling you what to choose or anything, but I say go for the Camaro."

Still chirring, although he had quieted to a dull buzz, Bumblebee said, "I'll keep that in mind."

With that lovely new bit of information to work with, they kept on walking.

The signal continued to grow stronger with each step. Bumblebee frequently consulted the various information sources he had, comparing the blurred signal source with the coordinates Jazz had given Prime about where he'd met patrols, then comparing that with a larger and more general grid of the area. Steadily, points began to converge.

Some ten minutes after the brief discussion about his possible alt mode ended, Bee began to worry about the chance of running into natives. He ducked under a particularly low branch, side-stepping a couple more in the process. Trees, he was discovering, were not the best things to maneuver through when they were dense. "I believe we are approaching the coordinates where Jazz made contact with the settlement patrol. It'd be smart if you took the lead from now on," he advised.

"Oh, really?" Sam said, glancing upwards at the large yellow figure. "So no surprising anyone, then, unless we want to be attacked…"

Though she stayed quiet, Mikaela nodded. They walked only a few more feet before she started calling out, hushed, "Hello? Hello, anyone?" Sam began to do the same after a few more paces.

Briefly, Bumblebee considered doing the same. Concluding, however, that the strange humans might take that as either offensive or so out of the ordinary that it could prompt them to raise their defenses, he didn't. He contented himself instead with falling in behind Sam and Mikaela, then splitting his attention between scanning the scenery – visually as well as for signs that patrols might be present – and monitoring the teenagers.

Broken choruses of 'hello's and 'anyone there's filled the area for quite some time, prompting Bee to ponder how neither teenager managed to lose his or her voice or patience. Knowing that they had to be on the right track was the only thing that kept the three of them pressing onwards, since there wasn't a single sign indicating that humans lived anywhere in the vicinity. They'd expected a hint, a marker, a canopy lookout, or at least something proving that there were regular patrols in the area, but after twenty minutes, nothing had shown up.

"I didn't realize the safe points were this well hidden," remarked Sam in a mixture of irritation and respect.

"Makes you wonder what they did when new streams of people came in, you know?" Mikaela agreed. "Like when we were leaving Tranquility."

"Mm," Sam acknowledged. He glanced around. "You're sure this is the right direction?" It had better be… they'd spent over an hour walking through the stupid forest now.

Bumblebee nodded faintly. This was certainly the right area, and Jazz's signal was certainly coming from the general direction in which they were heading. "They must be around here somewhere, although I'll admit it's unsettling not to have detected a signal of them. My bioscanners are overwhelmed and unreliable right now, but that shouldn't be so big a problem."

They continued onward, Sam and Mikaela still making their muffled calls while Bee focused on trying to step in places where he'd cause the vegetation the least amount of damage.

It was Bumblebee who, about six minutes later, stopped quickly and silently in his tracks.

The teens made it several more feet before they realized that the gentle crushing of Bee's steps had stopped. Mikaela turned first, and then Sam. Warily, the former glanced off into the trees. Sam studied the yellow mech.

"What?" Mikaela ventured when no reason for the pause made itself clear.

Bee, however, was looking this way and that, back-panels flaring and twitching. Despite lacking facial muscles and a mouth, he pulled off 'seriously in thought' quite convincingly. When some brush rustled ever so faintly off to the side, his attention – as well as Sam and Mikaela's – snapped to it.

Nothing.

Not enjoying the growing tension, Sam offered, "I don't know if you can pick up mice or squirrels or anything, but I swear if that's what's making you do this, I'm gonna flip out. You're scaring us." Blue optics moved slowly onto him. "Humans would've responded to us by now I think. They would've heard the warning calls."

Begrudgingly, Bumblebee conceded. "I suppose you're right." It could've been (and was probably) nothing more than a creature his bioscans had missed. "It's just hard to believe trespassers wouldn't have run into defenses by now."

The nervousness was something all three shared at the moment. Sam released a covert sigh of relief, and Mikaela finally allowed herself to take another breath, both of them recognizing that it was just that – nerves (or whatever the equivalent was in Bumblebee's case). Bee took two steps and closed the distance that had grown between them from his abrupt stop. Nothing jumped out at him, thank Primus, and the scout was about ready to admit he'd paused out of fear and not suspicious surroundings. When Sam made to take another step, however…

"Wait!" Bumblebee said sharply, attention shooting to another source of rustling, then another of movement, and then a third; he instinctively took a step backwards. "There's definitely…!"

Both Sam and Mikaela screamed, although whose voice was higher, no one knew – or, for that matter, could really hear. Between the sudden eruption of gunfire and aggressive, demanding shouts from the black-and-green clothed figures leaping out at them, their cries of surprise and fright were lost.

"Get _down!_" one of the strangers bellowed. Heart pumping a mile a minute, Sam stared at the man, but a digitized cry from behind him had the teen spinning in the other direction.

Whatever bullets were being used, they weren't doing nearly as much damage to the mech currently waving off the attacks and quickly backtracking away from the foreign humans as the shot he'd taken from a fellow mech. Still, neither Sam nor Mikaela could help but cringe and wince every time a shot pinged off his armor and went ricocheting, managed to embed itself in a plate, got caught up between seams, or otherwise worked a pathetic response from Bumblebee.

"Stop it, just – stop it!" Sam screamed, about to shoot his hands up frantically before the gunfire made him think twice. "He's not gonna attack you!"

"I said to get down!" the same man bellowed. "On the ground, _now,_" he followed up.

The sheer authority in his voice made the frightened couple jump. Mikaela shakily grabbed one of Sam's arms and pulled him down to the ground with her, trippingly, onto their knees.

"Please," she screamed fretfully over the frenzied sounds of attack and retreat, "stop shooting – we can explain."

The man who had been yelling – lightly tanned but clearly white, with hazel eyes and dirty-blonde-bordering-on-brown hair – stepped forward. His weapon was still trained on the retreating, defensively contorted form of Bumblebee, but he at least stopped firing. He had yet, however, to give the signal to stop the others.

"Who are you? What are you doing here – and with that _thing_?" he practically growled at them. The question had barely been asked before one of the other soldiers – this one a practically bald black man – stepped around them, joining the first guy. This man's weapon, as well as most of his attention, was also still trained on Bee.

"Sam – Witwicky!" Sam fumbled, thinking a million things at once and shooting a harried look over his shoulder, afraid that one of these times a shot might actually get past Bumblebee's defenses and do serious damage. He had to make them stop. "And Mikaela Banes! We just want to talk, we weren't trying to trespass or anything!" Then he added, too frantic to sound defensive, "We were trying to call you guys out, we didn't want to startle you. We're sorry!"

"The mech?"

"He's sorry, too!" was Sam's first thought.

Apparently that didn't answer the intended meaning of the question. The two men glanced at one another, relatively comically given the otherwise seriousness of their expressions, then back at the teens. They repeated the process when Mikaela begged, "Stop shooting at him, you'll hurt him!"

For a moment, it didn't seem like the stranger – apparently the man in charge – cared about what they had to say. He gave no indication of even having heard their pleas to stop shooting beyond glancing steadily at them and then over their heads at his men and the alien mech. Finally, he shouted loudly and clearly, "Cease fire!"

Sam and Mikaela's eyes widened in surprise. They hadn't expected the man to actually listen to them. From behind, they heard the volley of shots draw to a close. Bumblebee's squeaks quieted and turned instead to an uneasy whirring sound (the teens wondered if it was from his nervousness, or a side effect of systems stressed from the barrage of bullets).

Sam stole another look over his shoulder. The mech was warily unfolding his limbs, peeking out hesitant optics from behind protective hands, much to the obvious unease of the soldiers on standby.

"What are you really doing here? You didn't come here only 'to talk,'" demanded the blonde a bit more insistently.

"We know something really important about what's been happening. We swear, we weren't trying to surprise you or anything – we really do need to speak with you," Mikaela said, trying to sound every bit as earnest as she was.

Before answering, Blondie made several motions with his hands towards the others. The gestures were lost on Mikaela and Sam. "And you just happened to pick up a mech on your way here?" he asked, openly skeptical, almost taunting.

"He brought us, not the other way around," Sam corrected, eyes shooting between the two men that he was able to see. He warily tried to lower his arms, since they'd been raised submissively in the air for a bit and were now longing to be put down, and he received a threatening look for his daring. Whether or not the jostle of the man's gun was related to his efforts to lower his hands or not, Sam suddenly didn't mind them being up in the air anymore. "He's the one with most of the information."

With an approving nod from his blonde counterpart, the black soldier motioned the teens forward. He quickly frisked the oddly dressed duo, giving them a partial nod to indicate that _now _they could put their hands down. "And with most of the firepower, obviously," he concluded.

Sam shook his hands in place frantically (to the soldiers' disapproval). "No, no, no. He's not gonna hurt anyone or take anyone. I promise!"

Wisely, Bumblebee stayed out of it. Understanding the natives' terror and concern, the mech sheepishly clasped his hands together and took another step back. He hunched a little lower to the ground, but not – hopefully – in a threatening manner so much as a deferring one. The plating that the shots had seared into gave painful twinges, but the mech made sure not to move to inspect the minor wounds, afraid that that might warrant another negative reaction.

The armed group of men eyed Bumblebee like a huge and dangerous snake, sizing up him and his otherwise unthreatening motions. Bumblebee longed to do the same, yet stopped after one soldier's grip on his gun tightened at the beginnings of an inspection.

"What's the mech doing following you?" queried Blondie, practically growling. It was fairly clear that he didn't approve of Bumblebee's increased movement. He made a few more subtle motions that made the collection of patrollers fan out slightly. "You're not mech-loyal, are you?" he asked distastefully.

Mikaela and Sam both winced at the description. Had Bee not already been crouching, he might have, too.

"No. Well… we were, sorta… but we're not. Not anymore, no," Sam said. He felt stupid the moment he completed his shaky explanation. Mikaela offered her own, more coherent response.

"We used to be, but he doesn't consider us _his_ anymore. Bumblebee's a good mech, we swear." When the serious faces studying them didn't so much as budge at her words, she tried again, "Please, he's not going to hurt anybody. He's not like the mechs that have been attacking us; he's here to help."

The black man appraised all three of them, unimpressed. "Got any proof to back that up? We've heard about people like you before. They lead hunter mechs right into settlements. Next thing you know, your family's split up or dead, and the city is destroyed with all the surrounding resources depleted."

"I don't think we have any proof, do we?" Mikaela anxiously wondered aloud. The weapons trained on them were beginning to frighten her, no matter how still they were.

"Would you let him explain it to you without you shooting, maybe?" Sam asked, hopeful. "He'll tell you anything you want to know. All three of us will."

The troops looked skeptical. "Doesn't mean the explanation will be truthful," the blonde addressed them again. He regarded Bumblebee through furrowed brows, actually looking quite menacing.

Bumblebee whirred, which earned an immediate reaction from the group. The aim on each gun was readjusted and attention snapped fully back to the yellow mech in record time. Bee recoiled a little from the hostility, though he still did not blame them for their distrust and fear.

Everything had been so much easier when they were nothing more than cute, harmless pets.

"Do you know how to offline weapons systems?" Bumblebee asked, directing the inquiry to the man in charge.

The man hesitated, not used to being addressed by his robotic enemies. "What, like a mech's?" Bee nodded. "Sort of. Why?"

"I was going to suggest that you offline mine, if it made you feel better… My communications systems as well, until you felt safer around me," he added as an afterthought. "I'm not asking to be brought to a human settlement," he said at length.

Every human present – including Sam and Mikaela – stared at Bumblebee.

"… You're not?" a Spanish-accented man questioned.

Bumblebee shook his head. "Only to speak with someone. Optimus never told me I had to go to a city or town or anything, just to find out what was going on and help Jazz manage the front here," he explained to a confused Mikaela and Sam. "If he can leave and come meet me, and all of us speak together here, we'd still be meeting the objective."

Unsurprisingly, the phrase 'managing the front' wasn't met with giggles and sunshine. Most of the army men took on even more suspicious expressions. "A front?" the head spokesman repeated. "Who's Optimus? And Jazz?"

"Optimus Prime used to be the Autobot commander – one of two armies in a race-wide war we were in for a long time. He was regular Prime before that – a leader to our people – but the job has changed a lot since reconstruction started…" Bee reigned himself in from his memories and thoughts and went on, "And Jazz is another ex-Autobot. He used to be a saboteur, our head of special operations. He's been on Earth for a while, helping Prime try and monitor what the other Cybertronians are doing on your planet. He was the one that acquired your language and sent it to me, actually," he threw in, nodding to himself.

"We've got robots spying on us?" the black man spoke up, looking less than pleased. He'd understood very little of the mech's rambling explanation, but he had caught onto that revelation sharply enough.

"Yes…" Bumblebee said apologetically. Sam and Mikaela sighed. "Jazz would never hurt one of you. He seems to be fascinated with human culture as far as I can tell, and he's more than ready to pick a fight for human rights."

A new man asked, not yet as irritated as his counterparts by this strange turn of events interrupting his day, "What do you mean by 'human rights?'"

Growing more confident, Sam jumped in, "They didn't think we were self-aware. The first mechs that came here and took down the internet and all our radios and everything, they didn't tell anyone else. Only a few of the other guys know humans are fully thinking and feeling, and the ones that do are as upset about what the mechs here are doing as you are." Sam paused. "They're as upset about it as Mikaela and _I_ am; none of you guys have ever been caught. We have."

"And not to alarm you," Bumblebee spoke up quietly, "but if Jazz had wanted to make any sort of assaulting advance on you – you in particular – he would have done so already. He's stationed in this area. He's just very good at his job."

The information was followed by an uncertain silence. Each member of the group became visibly more measuring and thoughtful, and then the black man studied the ground extra hard. He raised a hand partially, and then raised his eyes. They were dangerously narrowed and had little trouble attracting Bumblebee's gaze.

"You mechs can all turn into things, right?" he asked.

Bumblebee hesitated and then nodded. "Almost all of us, yes, unless something has happened. That's why we thought 'Transformers' was an appropriate English label."

"Uh huh," the man continued, not seeming to care too much. "What does this Jazz guy turn into?"

Bee was unprepared for that question, even though by all accounts he shouldn't have been. He thought for a second, and then motioned for the humans to hold on. He quickly contacted Jazz and asked him what alt mode he had taken, and Jazz responded with all the necessary information.

"He says he's transformed as a… a Solstice, a Pontiac? He's silver," Bee shrugged. "I don't know if that answers your question or not. If you want me to be even more specific-"

"Holy hell," one of the other men interrupted, glancing around at his comrades. The man with the Spanish accent was stiffening noticeably. "That's the type of car that strange guy gave us a while ago, isn't it? The one Fig keeps trying to exorcise the demons out of or whatever voodoo he does?"

Another man twisted and said almost frantically, "But we checked that thing. We checked it a million times. It didn't scan positive. It can't be. It's gotta be a coincidence."

Sam and Mikaela looked at one another, then glanced up at Bumblebee, and then back at the men.

"What is it?" Sam ventured.

The man in charge eyed the kid. Calculating, and apparently deciding that figuring out whether or not their security had already been breached was the top priority, he gestured at Sam and Mikaela. "You two come with me. And that thing," he nodded at Bumblebee with a notable frown, "needs to stay here until we get back." The blonde glanced around at his team and pointed at nearly all of them, "Stay and keep watch. At the first sign of trouble or resistance, flare for backup and _don't _hold your fire."

After a series of nods from the army men, Sam and Mikaela were gestured forward by the in-charge man, the black man, and some other man – the one who had asked about human rights, they recognized – and were led away from the scene. The teens looked back at Bumblebee and frowned apologetically. The scout shrugged at them and proceeded to carefully settle onto the ground, trying his best to hide his wariness about the situation from both his new sentries and the retreating couple.

Bee could only hope that the humans wouldn't lash out at two of their own. It was a definite risk to let his former pets out of sight – let alone be taken into the custody of armed strangers – but short of directly disobeying and further frightening the locals, Bee knew there was nothing he could do.

The last thing Mikaela and Sam saw before committing all of their attention to following the soldiers was Bumblebee turning his optics nonthreateningly to the ground.

"They won't attack him, will they?" Mikaela asked when they'd gotten further away. The bright yellow of Bumblebee's armor could barely be glanced through the distant trees by the time she spoke up.

Blondie looked over his shoulder at her. "As long as it doesn't attack them first."

"Him," Sam said under his breath.

"What?" Blondie and Questions asked at the same time.

"You said 'it,' but Bumblebee's more like a 'him.' Sort of," explained Sam sheepishly. "Not that he's, like, actually male or anything…"

The soldiers exchanged looks.

Eventually, the black guy repeated, "Bumblebee? Thought that's what I heard you saying earlier. Did you come up with the name, or did he?"

"He did the translation, we… we don't really know what his normal name is. We probably wouldn't be able to say it anyway," Mikaela told him.

Three noises of acknowledgement were the soldiers' only responses before another few minutes of silence.

Sam, like most people, had never been a fan of uncomfortable silences. Since there was little else more uncomfortable than not knowing who one was with while worrying about whether one's friend was safe or not, Sam awkwardly rubbed at his neck. "Hey, um… you don't think we could get your names, do you? That is, if it's not… if it's not too much trouble."

"William Lennox," Blondie said distractedly. "That'd be Lennox or Captain Lennox for now."

Although it was obvious the man wouldn't be able to see it from his position, Mikaela and Sam gave slight nods.

"Toggen – Chris Toggen," said the other, larger white guy. He was a little less tense about the situation at this point, though by no means comfortable. "If you gotta call me something, 'Togg' is better."

"Tech Sergeant Epps," the final man introduced. "Epps is fine."

"We're not sellouts," Mikaela said, looking at Epps. If her expression was any more pointed, it could've been interpreted as openly challenging. "We would've been living in a safe point right now if we hadn't been caught on the way there. The last thing we want to do is give away where this place is to the bad guys."

Her last comment got Lennox to turn halfway towards them. Everyone waited for him to say something, since it was obvious that he wanted to, but after a few seconds he simply turned back around. Sam thought he heard him sigh, or mumble something to himself – or both.

"Pissed off as it'll make me to find out we personally brought one of those guys into the camp," Epps began, louder than he needed to be in a blatant attempt to draw attention away from whatever it was Lennox had just done, "it'd be nice to know we weren't all paranoid about that car."

"We're going to have to have some words," Lennox said suddenly, voice low.

Sam nervously eyed the man's back. "You and Jazz?"

"Me and them, me and you, me and her, all of us," the man clarified. He did another partial turn. "Whether you're giving us a load of bull or there's some truth to it, it doesn't matter. There is a long, _long _conversation to be had."

That didn't make Sam any less nervous. Since he didn't know exactly how to respond, Sam decided to awkwardly nod and then pretend something interesting was happening near his feet. Mikaela nudged him gently, and when he looked up, she gave him a shrug as if to say 'don't worry about it.'

"That's fine," Mikaela attempted to soothe some of the tension. "That's what we're after anyway."

Lennox turned even more so that he could look her in the eye. "And we're getting you out of those… whatever those are," he said, gesturing between them at their bodies. The teens glanced down at themselves self-consciously. "Those clothes are not helping your case any. You look like you broke out of a mental institution. Where did you get them?"

"A mech made them," answered Sam, still tense. "One that's never seen any clothes before for reference and lives light-years away from here. I…" He hesitated at the seriousness on the captain's face. "I thought whoever made them did a pretty good job, given the circumstances…"

The man looked like he wanted to say something again, badly. This time, he sighed openly and shook his head before turning back around.

Mikaela was about to ask why he was so upset – nicely, though, because she didn't fault him for being distrustful – but Togg shook his head at her. A quick glance at Epps proved that he, too, was subtly advising that she not pursue the issue.

The brunette had the sinking suspicion that Lennox had a personal reason for being so rough with them, that this wasn't his default personality and it wasn't merely a general dislike of mechs.

No matter what it was, Mikaela noted that it was a problem for another time. Right now, they had a strange mech to bring out of hiding and a friendly scout that they needed to get back to in order to make sure he was safe. Everything else was simply not a priority.

* * *

**A.N.s**

Yuppers – it's only a partial first contact chapter, despite being longer than normal. Jazz will be here next chapter. :D Yay for Jazz! …Boo for him being torn in half.

Hopefully you guys understand why Lennox is gruffer/more irritable than his character would normally be. He will be that way for a little while longer. As for the other Rangers… well, only a handful of them have official names (Lennox, Epps, Fig, and Donnelly), and as long I'm counting them right, there're at least four or five that don't. As far as I'm concerned, Christopher Toggen is that guy who, in the movie, goes to the showers in the first scene and says "Step aside, ladies." I write him into a lot of unposted fics/scenes I have that involved the army dudes. I don't know why I'm partial to him.

P.S. – 10 (in a couple hours, 9) days until the third movie releases (where I am, at least; I don't know the global release schedule). I am pumped, and am hoping that a) it's a lot better than RotF was, and b) they handle the Mikaela v. Carly thing in a decent enough way. I'm trying not to get my hopes too high for TF3 to minimize any disappointment; that method made the first movie that much more awesome for me. No matter what, I still can't wait!

Also, the technology/magic quote is from Arthur Clarke ("any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic"), in case you were wondering.


	21. Gotta Start Somewhere

Title: Property Of

Rating: T ((minor swearing in this chapter. I apologize for increased swearing, but it just seems it'd be natural for the soldiers, especially with the stress they're under))

Summary: During Cybertronian 'peace,' ex-Cons hide the sentience of and sell humans as pets to secure Earth. Sam and Mikaela might just be the first to grasp the reality of the situation alongside their new owner.

Chapter: Gotta Start Somewhere

Oh yeah – first update post-Dark of the Moon. We have reached a new era, my friends.

Nods to Wikipedia, which confirmed what I was pretty sure were the US army core values (although I had no idea they had such a corny reason for listing them in the order that they do).

More nods to **PyroDea** for, yet again, having my back on the typo front. To everyone else – please feel free to join in the struggle against typographical errors. Whether it's embedded in a review or in a PM (both of which I love receiving, btw), any indication of where typos are is greatly appreciated.

* * *

Sam's prediction that patrols circled at about a fifteen minute walk from the outskirts of the safe point was fairly accurate. Although the patrolmen – two army Rangers and one Air Force man once upon a time, Epps supplied when Sam quietly asked – didn't take them to their destination in a perfectly straight line, the walk took eighteen minutes.

"That's where we stored the vehicle in question," Captain Lennox gestured at an upcoming building.

The sizeable structure looked like a stereotypical warehouse. A large black '7' was emblazoned on the plated metal siding, with a rim of lights spaced out along the perimeter of the dark brown roof. Several garage doors dotted the wall, some open and some closed. A handful of regular doors fit in between them.

No other buildings were in the immediate vicinity. Only tire tracks and footprints on worn dirt paths suggested that this wasn't the only human structure here.

"It's one of our supply posts, still some ways away from where the civvies and everyone else are kept," Togg provided after catching the confusion on their faces. "And a good thing, too. The captain would've flipped even more if we'd brought a mech into the heart of a safe point."

Lennox didn't even respond to that. Instead, he took extra-long strides and reached one of the doors. He had it propped open with one foot by the time the other four reached it. Epps flicked on a set of light switches as he entered in front of Sam and Mikaela, and four rows of light bulbs glowed to life on the nearest corner of the warehouse.

Mikaela and Sam looked everywhere that their attention probably didn't need to be: the first human sized sink they'd seen since they'd abandoned their houses, the dirty glasses and cards splayed out on a table, the old fridge humming against a far wall, the worn sofa next to it… every imperfect nuance that proved beyond a doubt that they were home amongst humans.

"So tell us," Lennox called their attention, shutting the door behind them with a forceful tug. "Is this another one of your pals, or isn't it?"

Nestled directly between a black jeep and a very deep green minivan sat an innocent silver hardtop Pontiac Solstice. As everyone took in the car, a heavy silence fell over the warehouse.

"It's a nice car at least," Mikaela granted, appreciating the pristine paintjob. The cleanliness might've been the first sign that the thing they were all looking at was not a regular car. "And it looks like it's in great condition, at least the body."

"I don't care about the condition it's in," Lennox interrupted. "Just tell us if this is one of yours or not."

There wasn't really anything to do to make the situation better at the moment. Sam could tell that whether or not the car was the unknown ex-Autobot, Lennox would still be upset. Shrugging slightly, he approached the silent vehicle and leaned a fraction towards it. Any bystander would've thought the lot of them were crazy.

"Uh… Hello, there. Is this Jazz?" he questioned the car. Sam didn't know if the hesitance in his voice was due to being nervous about meeting another robot, or from fear of looking stupid trying to talk to an inanimate object… or both. Definitely both. "We came with Bumblebee," Sam added for good measure.

No response was forthcoming. Everyone present shifted in his or her own way, suffering from the growing weight of anticipation. Mikaela searched the car for the first sign of movement or something out of the ordinary while Sam leaned further and further in.

Then, without any preamble,

"So _you're_ Bee's ex-pets, huh?"

All five humans jumped at the deep yet smooth voice. Epps did a double take before narrowing his eyes. Togg recoiled comically, reaching around at the air for a brief moment. Lennox gripped his gun, raising it instinctively before remembering that he wasn't supposed to be firing yet. Mikaela's whole body lifted an inch into the air in a tiny hop, and Sam – who had been bent over the hood of the car, investigating – straightened and took a step back.

They all stared at the not-car, which still looked as innocent as ever, minus the fact that it had just spoken to them.

"…Yeah. Yes. We are," Mikaela finally answered once the shock had worn off enough.

There was another pause before the same voice confirmed, "Bitchin'." It sounded like the mech could've been smiling.

Whatever they had expected him to say, it wasn't that; their expression proved as much.

"I've been wanting to meet you guys ever since I heard of ya," he went on, oblivious to the way he'd managed to stun all five of the humans present. "But where's Bee? He hasn't commed in a while, and I thought he was 'sposed to be with you when ya came here."

"What the _hell?_" demanded Lennox, cutting off the beginnings of a conversation. "This is a major security breach!"

While Lennox sounded even more pissed than he had before, Epps sounded more put out than anything when he exclaimed, "I can't believe we've had one of you sitting around in here!" The disguised alien took the accusatory pointing in stride. "What the hell have you been doing?" he now ordered of the not-car.

Jazz didn't answer for a second, probably picking his words. Then he said, "I've been chillin' over here, right where you put me, watchin' when ya take breaks and play cards." The grin was still in his voice. Mikaela knew immediately that she liked this mech, and Sam knew after the next, conspiratorially spoken line. "Funny enough, _Bobby_, you're probably my favorite to keep a sensor on. Your swearing is its own special brand a' entertainment. I could still school ya, though. I knew some mechs who thought a conversation wasn't a conversation without swearing every other word. Maybe I could offer up some lessons?"

Epps was taken completely aback. He looked like he didn't know whether to laugh uneasily or to try and cuss the mech out right then and there.

"But really, though, humans – where's Bumblebee?" the mech grew a little more serious. And, wow, was it starting to get unnerving speaking to a motionless vehicle. "There's gotta be a reason that you came to get me, and I know he's supposed to be in the general area. Pit, I really did think he was gonna be with you, but apparently he's not," he continued on, either unaware of or uncaring as to the military men's astonishment and irritation. "He's okay, right?"

Sam blinked several times before managing, "Yeah, he's okay, or he was the last we checked." He glanced at the adults in the room. "The patrol didn't want him passing through yet before they knew what he was after."

"I get it. I'da done the same," Jazz acknowledged, sounding… approving? "Well, as long as Bee's safe, that's fine."

"Hey, hey, hey," Lennox waved attention back to him. Togg, Epps, Sam, and Mikaela looked at him quickly enough, and although Jazz had no familiar way of showing his focus had switched, everyone knew it had. The army captain was giving the ex-Autobot the most unusual look Sam had ever seen. Anger, distraught, and curiosity were all there under a coating of seriousness, each stressed by a different feature of his face. "Back it up. What did you call them a second ago?"

"I don't think I called 'em anything," replied Jazz slowly, confused. "Oh, wait – you mean when I called 'em Bee's ex-pets?"

"Yes, that," confirmed Lennox decisively.

"What about it?" asked the ex-Bot, still confused, but more than willing to help Lennox sort through whatever he was thinking.

When Lennox suddenly struggled with asking for clarification, Epps jumped in, "What do you mean by 'pets'?"

"Oh." There was a heavy pause. "None of them said anything yet?" Another heavy pause, and the three soldiers shook their heads with varying degrees of impatience. "Damn. Well…" the Solstice rocked slightly on its wheels. "It's what it sounds like. Bee bought 'em off a pet market – how long ago? 'Bout ten months now or somethin' like that… When we found out you guys were intelligent sentients, though, he quickly put an end to that where these two are concerned."

"They take people to make them _pets_?" Togg asked incredulously. "That's a load of bull."

"It's really not," said Sam. "He's telling the truth."

Respectfully, Sam and Mikaela didn't speak again right away, since both were well aware that that was a big revelation to try to take in. Half a minute passed before they realized that the soldiers _weren't_ taking it in. The three men clearly didn't know what to do with the information, including whether or not to even believe it. Epps was muttering under his breath, suddenly connecting the dots about what the teens had said earlier about Bumblebee no longer considering them his, and about human rights.

Jazz realized how difficult a concept that was to swallow, too. "I'm not th' best mech to ask, though, to be fair – you'll wanna talk to Bumblebee about that one. I never spent much time with any humans until I got here. Speaking of… if he's not comin' here, am I goin' there?"

It took a few more seconds for what the mech had said to catch up with Lennox and his men.

"Eventually," the captain said tightly. It had been nice to see his open and dazed face – it was a breath of air from the ferocity and distrust he'd been exuding – but the distance in his expression was back. He gestured at the teens, then over his shoulder at an expanse of crates with various labels stamped on them. "You're not going anywhere until you're out of those pillowcases. Some of those crates are labeled 'men' and 'women.' Most have a lot of sizes in them, some are labeled that they're all one size. Find what fits."

Sam and Mikaela nodded and began to make their way to the crates.

"I don't mean to bother you any," Jazz cut in after they'd only gone a couple steps, "but would it trouble ya' if I stretched my gears for a sec?" He demonstratively swept his windshield wipers across his unnaturally dust-free windshield. "It's been a while since I got to stand up and move around, and my plates are startin' to feel cramped."

Because Jazz couldn't, Mikaela and Sam looked expectantly at Lennox.

The captain didn't seem too pleased with the idea.

Mikaela, who was eager to watch the mech transform, spoke up hesitantly, "Sir, he'll have to eventually, won't he? You'll have the home field advantage here if he tries anything."

"If I try anything?" Jazz repeated before Lennox could provide a response. "Lil' lady, I'm hurt you'd even suggest it."

Epps stepped closer to Lennox and said something to him in a whisper that no one else could hear (at least, neither Sam nor Mikaela could hear it, and if Jazz could, he gave no indication). The man nodded, whispering something back. They went back and forth a few times.

Finally, Lennox inclined his head at the disguised saboteur. "You can change – but you're not moving from that spot, and then you're changing back quickly."

Jazz gave a soft chuckle. "You know, my kind can live for hundreds a' thousands of years. My definition of 'quickly' probably ain't the same as yours. But I get it. I'll stay over here and switch back right after I got my joints worked out. Just keep it easy on those guns a' yours, will ya? And step real far back; I gotta roll out a' this tight spot first."

The humans readily put distance between themselves and the disguised mech. They were almost against the warehouse wall by the time they stopped backtracking.

Ghostlike, the Solstice's engine gave a tame growl and the car rolled smoothly forward out from between the jeep and the minivan. The motion was rather silken in its flow, and the movement stopped at the very same time that the whole top of the car – trunk, roof, and hood – grew a seam right down the middle. The seam grew wider, and the hood split into various sections, then the roof, and the windshield split apart and slid to the side while doors shattered into pieces that rearranged and twisted out of the way. Tires rotated and two seemed to roll along silvery metal before locking into place in a mesh of wires and dark innards that exploded out of nowhere from within the vehicle. Two wheels were immersed in the heels of legs that had sprung out, and brand new arms came to a stop at four-fingered – more like four-clawed – hands.

The last part to stop moving was a sleek silver-blue visor that dropped down over the mech's face, lit from behind.

"Much better!" he announced with a distinct smile.

No one was returning the gesture. Mikaela had a look of wonderment on her face, Sam was just as fascinated as his girlfriend by the transformation, Togg was wide-eyed in momentary fright, Epps looked split between intrigue and further irritation at seeing the mech that'd been spying on them in his actual form, and Lennox was just… blank. His face revealed very little as he looked the mech up and down, and that might've been the most worrisome expression either teenager had seen on him yet.

"Most cars I've seen that you guys have would match mechs' transformation specs, but they _are_ something of a squeeze," explained Jazz, twisting and bending his arms. The way the metal plates slid over constricting cables like muscles over tendons, how armor pieces flared and practically breathed whereas they'd fit together so seamlessly (literally) before, was something else. The silver mech spread one four-digit hand at the soldiers when they began tensing over his motions. "Aw, now, don't get like that. I'm just stretching, gettin' ready for the drive out."

Jazz was smaller than Bumblebee, Sam noticed that much. He didn't get to advance the comparisons any farther, though, because Lennox pointed insistently – without even looking – over at the crates. Giving the mech an awkward grin, Sam grabbed Mikaela's hand and dragged her away to find some real clothes.

"I'm excited to get to know ya finally," Jazz was saying in the background as the teens split up to search for appropriate temporary outfits. The ex-Autobot was trying to put the men at ease while also biding extra time in his more usual form, and was doing very little to hide that fact.

As the mech tried to calm the stressed men, Sam stumbled upon a crate of men's shirts. He grabbed the first medium sized top that he found in there, heedless as to its color, then moved onto a crate of men's pants. Inside were a collection of cargo pants in gray-green, brown, dark gray, and khaki. Sam glanced at the light brown shirt in his hand and then shuffled through the dark gray pants until he found a pair in his size. Next was a pair of roomy boxers, a pair of socks, and plain white shoes; he picked out an extra pair of socks and shoes and set them aside to make it easier for Mikaela, who was still trying to find crates with the proper garments.

Mikaela dug into a selection of shirts and pulled out a simple red top with a semi-swooping neckline – a much needed splash of color. She had to bypass two crates of women's bottoms – one filled with shorts, another filled with capris – with regretfully longing looks until she eventually decided that the pants Sam had found would be comfortable enough for now. When she turned to find him and ask him where that crate was, Mikaela discovered that he was already hiding and changing behind some boxes, so he had to point her blindly in the right direction. She happily clamed a pair of khaki pants and then zoomed in on a crate with undergarments.

Inner-Mikaela nearly wept at the sight of row after row of clean bras and underwear.

"Can we shower later?" she called out to the soldiers as she, too, found a hiding spot and began to change.

"I think that can be arranged," Epps answered her. It wasn't said unkindly, but Mikaela still got the impression from his tone that he had wanted to suggest showers anyway.

In a few minutes more, Sam and Mikaela had finished changing – shoes and all – and piled their mech-made garments together. They rejoined the three patrolmen and the ex-Autobot side by side, small smiles on each of their faces simply from being back in regular clothes.

"So are we rollin' outa here, or what?" asked Jazz. Unwarranted, Lennox gave him a menacing look that was accented by the tiniest head motion. The ex-Autobot interpreted it as a question about what he was doing still standing around in mech form. "Okay, okay – I'm on it. I don't think it'd hurt ya to tone it down a bit in the meantime."

The mech's whole body seemed to move at the same time, and the humans were treated to another up-close-and-personal demonstration of the aliens' amazing mimicry skills. When the last pieces of armor practically fused together, leaving no indication that there were actually seams, a sleek Solstice sat before them once more. Jazz's headlights, however, remained on, and he flickered them. "Is that better?"

Lennox glanced over the 'car,' then at the teens, then slowly between Togg and Epps, then back at Jazz. "Neither you nor your yellow friend will be admitted into civilian quarters. The most either one of you will see is the inside of this building, and that's assuming we say it's okay to bring you in past the border again. Is that clear?"

"Crystal, sir," answered Jazz, all teasing out of his voice – for the moment. He gave a motion with his windshield wipers that could only be seen as an attempted salute. "Bee and I will go along with whatever it is ya want us to do. Well, within reason," he amended. "Could I make a suggestion?"

"What?" the captain asked, curt, probably thrown by the response he'd gotten.

"Swap out your weapons."

"What?" This time, three voices sounded practically as one. The uniformity of it made both Sam and Mikaela blink.

Jazz waited a couple seconds before repeating, "Swap out your weapons. Those're low power. I know you've got sabot-type firearms in here, and those're way better at taking down mechs; ya know that, surely."

Suspiciously, Lennox asked, "Why?"

"Uh, 'cause it'd give ya a one-up on us, so you might be a _lil'_ more inclined to listen?" Jazz both said and asked. "I'm not tryin' to trick ya or anything like that, I just want ya more self-assured. It's not like ya have to if ya don't want to…"

The men didn't respond. Lennox waited a minute and then nodded at his fellow soldiers, and they went off to collect different weapons. Unlike Sam and Mikaela, they moved efficiently through the maze of supplies, knowing exactly where to go. It wasn't even another minute before they were back, each with a new gun strapped over each shoulder, and each carrying a third that they handed to Lennox so that he, too, had one for each arm.

"We'll move out then," Lennox relented.

Without being asked, Epps went to a control box and pressed a button that opened one of the garage doors; grinding, shoddy mechanics could be heard the whole way as the door retracted.

"Wait," Sam said when Lennox went to lead the group out of the warehouse. He looked around confusedly, almost stalling when he saw Jazz's front wheels tilt towards him as though in acknowledgement. "You're just gonna let a car follow you all phantom-like?"

Lennox, Epps, and Togg all looked at him like they didn't understand. But, before Sam could say anything else, Epps said, "We're not likely to run into anyone. Patrol doesn't switch for another few hours."

"But isn't it…?" Right in time, Sam stopped himself from saying 'weird.' He had no right to be calling something like a driverless car weird. He'd been subjected to far weirder.

"You _want_ to get inside a mech?" Lennox asked, skeptical.

The phantom car in question clicked. When everyone looked over, they saw it was because the driver's door was swung upon a few inches. "If ya wanna hitch a ride, I'm cool with it," Jazz offered amiably. "Gotta try out the passenger thing sometime, right?"

"I'd… rather you didn't," said Lennox, starting loudly but then dropping to a more normal tone once he saw he'd gained everyone's attention again. "I'll stay in front, you two kids right behind me, him behind you. Togg, if you'd keep level with him, and Epps, you cover the rear, I think that'd be best."

Jazz didn't bother with any comments to Lennox and simply closed his door again.

Sam looked rather dejected at having his concern shot down so quickly, especially because he didn't understand why it'd been such a horrible prospect for the captain. Mikaela grabbed one of his hands and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"Maybe next time," the ex-Autobot finally mediated. Nothing in his voice suggested he was offended when he said, "When they don't think we might be schemin' or something, that is. Of course, I woulda let one of you ride along if ya'd wanted to – got two seats in here," he added as an aside to the soldiers.

Not that anyone thought any of the three men would have wanted to, and if they had, he or she certainly didn't think so after the men's responses. Lennox, acting almost insulted by the retrospective offer, turned and immediately began to walk out of the warehouse, Togg gave a tiny shudder and looked away, and Epps eyed the transformed Autobot the same way he probably would have if Jazz had instead asked him to start break dancing just for the hell of it.

In the aftermath of the offer – while most of them were probably still wondering about what it'd be like to ride around inside of a mech – no one spoke. The progression out of the warehouse and back into the trees began.

Any hang-ups any of them had about a vehicle driving itself in incredibly close proximity – seriously, Mikaela would've thought Jazz was trying to run them over for the first few minutes – melted away quickly.

"Can't wait to see my lil' buddy again," Jazz announced soon enough. "Once you all realize he's harmless to anyone 'cept 'Cons, I'm sure you'll love Bee. Most people do."

Expectedly, no adult answered. Sam and Mikaela, however, gave each other a significant look.

They already couldn't wait to see Bumblebee again, too – to make sure the other soldiers hadn't started something. Neither could have foreseen the day when they'd feel more comfortable around mechs than around humans, but, lo and behold, here they were.

Oh how the times had changed.

* * *

"This was the day, right?"

"Which day?"

Miles continued to stare at the extensive computer monitors uncomprehendingly for a moment or two longer. He twisted his head around and blinked up at Prowl. The mech was still typing away on the alien keypad, and stopped only when he realized Miles was watching him.

"You know. _The _day," Miles said.

Prowl shuttered his optics one at a time before reopening them in reverse order. "Might you be a bit more specific? I am uncertain what you're after."

"Dude," said the teen simply, casually, "I'm not 'after' anything. I just wanna know if today was the day that my besty and his girlfriend got to go home."

"…'Besty'?" Prowl hesitantly repeated.

Rolling his eyes, Miles clarified, "Sam – my best friend, number one bro, brother from another mother."

Prowl looked astounded. "You have the same father?"

"What?" demanded Miles. "Where did that come from?"

Seeing as how both of them were now perfectly confused, Prowl was thoroughly unashamed when he answered, "You referred to him as your brother twice, and then clarified that you do not have the same mother. That would suggest the relation is on your father's side… correct?" Since parting ways with Jazz, the twins, and the like, Prowl hadn't felt this uncertain about a perfectly logical train of thought in some time.

"Uh…" Miles had to think about that for a few seconds. When it finally hit him, he shook his head. "I didn't mean _literally_. Don't you guys have friends close enough to you that you think of them like brothers? Like the phrase 'brothers in arms'? Or…" Eyes widening, Miles ventured, "Oh, you guys don't really have the brother, sister, parents thing, do you?"

"Not the way you would probably understand biological familial relationships, no, since there are no genetics involved," answered Prowl, "but Cybertronians can and do have other types of familial bonds that parallel yours. It's not that the concept is foreign, I simply didn't realize that you were speaking figuratively."

Miles grinned and shrugged. "Yeah – speaking figuratively. I do that a lot."

"I've noticed," Prowl agreed. He fully expected to not immediately understand what the human was talking about by this point. Unfortunately, accepting that fact wouldn't make it any easier on him each time he was presented with a confusing turn of phrase.

"But today is the day they were supposed to leave, isn't it?" Miles repeated his question.

Faintly, Prowl nodded in confirmation – and not one of the off-beat diagonal Cybertronian nods, either, which Miles appreciated. "Assuming there were no unexpected delays, it's possible that they have reached the planet by now."

"Really?"

Prowl double checked the data net's flight records. "Yes. They are either there, or almost there."

"Cool," Miles said. Not for the first time, Prowl wondered where that slang term had originated; it seemed to be one of the human's favored vocabulary words.

They lapsed into neutral silence for a moment, until suddenly Prowl straightened in his seat and turned his head partially towards the door. Miles warily followed the mech's new gaze, and tried in vain to hear something.

"Prowl, what…?"

The tactician shook his head silently and rose to his feet. Just as Miles was really starting to have an internal freak out, Prowl raised and calmly lowered his hand soothingly, urging the blonde not to panic. Miles did calm some, but he quickly grew disconcerted again when the mech opened the apartment door wide, stepped out into the hall, waited a few seconds, and then closed the door while beginning to walk off to the right.

"What the eff?" Miles murmured to himself. He didn't even attempt to not grab up more of the sleeping fabric and bundle it comfortingly to his chest while he watched the door for the first sign of Prowl's return. These oddities were never a good sign…

A few seconds ticked by before Miles felt a subtle tingling in his spine. He glanced around the empty apartment with a concerned expression, even though he still couldn't see or hear – or smell, feel, or taste, for that matter – anything amiss. Regardless, he fidgeted in spot and rubbed briefly at his neck, trying to convince the little hairs there that they could chill out now, because feeling like he was being watched was not the same thing as actually being watched.

For once, the hairs and nagging paranoia were right. The air actually rippled midway out in the room, filling in waves of blue and white onto a previously invisible source.

There was a mech standing in the middle of the room where there had been nothing before.

Miles's mouth dropped open and his eyes grew wide. "Holy…"

Blue optics blinked at him; Miles shut his mouth as if ordered. The mech then regarded him with the slightest air of curiosity.

They watched one another in silence until the door to the apartment hissed in reopening. Whereas Miles jumped and his attention sprang to the door, the stranger fluidly looked over, no hint of surprise.

Miles was about to shout out to Prowl that a rare blue-gazed assassin was waiting to jump him, when Prowl and the stranger caught optics and nodded. The silence continued until the door was closed, at which point Miles heatedly demanded,

"Who the hell is this guy?" He followed up by staring in disbelief at the mech, and the mech followed up by continuing to regard him distantly.

"Miles, this is Mirage, a former comrade of mine. Mirage, this is Miles. I took him in from a neglectful mech," Prowl introduced.

Although Miles kept gaping in wonderment, Mirage said, "I know. Prime has told me a thing or two about him and about your… circumstances."

Miles couldn't hold it in any longer. "You… you were invisible. You were _invisible_."

"One of Mirage's many skills," agreed Prowl. Although Miles would've loved having time to geek out about that, Prowl cut off his opportunity. "I'm sorry for the delay, but in case you were followed or the hallway is bugged, I wanted it to appear as if I opened the door and left for a reason."

"An understandable precaution," Mirage said.

"What are you doing here?" Prowl moved on. "I had no idea you were coming until you messaged me a moment ago."

Ah. So that's what the stiffening and whatnot was all about, Miles realized, glad to have at least one mystery solved. _And he would've gotten away with invisibly sneaking in here, too, if it weren't for us meddling kids (and alien)!_

Mirage rolled a few joints around. "Prime decided it was safest not to let you know before I arrived. He has a proposition for you and for the human."

"For me?" said Miles, confused.

"Yes," confirmed the blue and white mech firmly. "He would very much like to have a human that would be able to contact other captive humans if the need arises, even though it would not necessarily be easy work, nor would it be safe," the ex-spy said without any illusions.

While Miles turned that over, Prowl interjected, "If you're talking about the kinds of assignments that I think you're talking about, they have the potential to be more than merely 'not easy' or 'not safe.' They could be highly dangerous, and might better be suited to a trained minibot or a Pretender class mech, if one is willing and able to be outfitted with human compatibility." Then, with a disapproving click, Prowl added, "I would have preferred to be warned about a topic like this being brought up."

Miles wasn't certain what they were talking about. The only thing he knew was that Prowl neither looked nor sounded very pleased with the possibility.

"Prime doesn't know what types of assignments, exactly, he would want completed, or if there would ever be need for any," Mirage assuaged, despite never changing his tone or his stance to be more consoling. "He simply wonders whether or not you and… Miles… would be willing to assist if need be. He'd prefer to have help near the top of the ranks, and you're right at the top."

Prowl was ready to interject again but Miles beat him to it. "But, like… I don't understand. What would he want me to do? I'm probably not good at anything useful, plus I don't exactly have the best track record with mechs."

"He would probably want you infiltrating the homes of mechs with enough status to have a say in social proceedings, explain the situation to the human pets that they keep, and take whatever information they have in return," explained Prowl somewhat coldly, all while staring at Mirage. He looked at Miles. "Such tasks during the war – although never targeted at pets like this – would have called for infiltration-class and scout-class operatives." Now, Prowl turned attention back to Mirage. "I thought Prime understood that these humans have never been trained in any sort of tactical way. They were civilians, at best, before their capture, and have since been emotionally compromised due to their treatment." He silently added, / _**Especially this one**_, / sparing Miles only a partial glance alongside the transmission. "Even with training, assignments like that can be high risk; those performing them run the chance of being captured and killed. Why Prime would even suggest it is beyond me."

Mirage frowned ever so slightly. "Surely it's not fully 'beyond' you. It could, in some situations, have incredible benefits, especially if it came to weeding out which ex-Decepticons are trustworthy or not. I am not saying that I agree with Prime, nor am I trying to misrepresent the risks the human would be taking if he ever agreed to carry out any future requests," Mirage assured, "but I was told to urge you to at least recognize the gains that could be made. Every precaution would of course be taken."

The blonde blinked. Whoa – information overload. "Wait, so, you might need to run that by me again, at a slower pace, with shorter sentences, and with smaller words." He frowned. "You're asking whether or not I'd put my life on the line to try and help you guys – what? – figure out the best way to help all the other humans out? All the ones that were taken?"

After a moment, Mirage answered, "Yes. It is not guaranteed that whatever information would be gleaned from such assignments would solve the problem any more quickly, but yes – there is the potential that it could infinitely increase the odds that the captured humans are returned safely, and that war does not erupt full-scale again."

"Highly unlikely that any information would be _that_ valuable. Any valuable intel would likely take multiple such missions to composite, and each mission only compounds the risk to any human rash enough to agree to them," Prowl said realistically.

"But it could still happen."

It was Miles who spoke, not Mirage, much to Prowl's surprise. Both ex-Autobots looked to the blonde teenager. "If I _did_ agree to help you, which I'm not," Miles made very clear, "if I ever did have to go do things like what Prowl's suggesting, the things I found out _could_ be used to help everyone else out?"

Miles wasn't considered by many to be a very serious kind of guy. Even fewer thought that he was a courageous type of risk taker (a stupid type of risk taker was another story). He wasn't athletic in the usual sense of the word, but he wasn't a lazy couch potato, either. He wasn't a straight-A student, but that spoke more about his unwillingness to put effort into schoolwork than his actual ability to do the work; Miles was actually a pretty smart guy when he wasn't goofing around.

"It could," Mirage again confirmed, but added, "although Prowl is right. It is probably more unlikely than likely that anything capable of being learned would be able to turn the tables to the degree you're probably imagining."

That didn't mean it wasn't possible, though.

Miles thought of the lady he'd seen in that carrier about a week ago.

"I can't speak for you," Prowl said in a rare, quiet voice that drew Miles's attention. It was clear that the mech somehow knew what he was thinking. "I would, however, urge you to consider exactly how dangerous something like this could potentially be for you, and to learn every possible detail before offering any sort of compliance."

The three sat and stood in silence while Miles thought. The teenager studied the desktop.

"I'm not agreeing to anything blindly," he spoke up suddenly, voice firm and determined. When he raised his head and looked at Mirage, his face was equally as serious as his tone. "But if I can help, I want to – I don't care if it's dangerous."

Mirage, who had probably not expected it to be so easy to garner any acceptance from the human – especially after what Prime had said about the human's past – settled for blinking noncommittally. Prowl took in a new cycle of air and straightened, absently nodding to himself, but Miles could tell it wasn't prompted by anger, or even disapproval. Instead, the teen thought it was acceptance, perhaps marred prematurely by concern.

"So explain this to me a little more," requested Miles, shifting. "I'd want to know exactly the sort of stuff I'd be getting into if I did say yes."

* * *

Loyalty to country, army, and unit; duty to reach his objective and fulfill all obligations; respect for those around him; selflessness by putting himself last, the well-being of those around him first; honor and integrity in doing what was morally right; personal courage with which to face all fears and dangers steadfastly.

Somewhere in there, Lennox was torn. Right now, while picking his way through trees to find the easiest route for a not-car to take, he thought he was mostly running into trouble with loyalty, duty, and selfless service. He was sure Epps and Togg were conflicted too, but they weren't the commanding officers in this group.

Under different circumstances, a superior might have removed him from service over a year ago, after…

Lennox closed his eyes for a second, glancing over his shoulder at the two strange teenagers who had come along and ruined his day. After the unmentionable had happened, a superior would've said he had conflicting interests and that the tasks he was assigned were too personal. If they followed regulations, there was little chance he wouldn't have been released.

The conditions of this bastardized, alien-infested world, however, called for personal investment. Personal investment gave better results most of the time. No one minded that his mission had suddenly become a lot more subjective.

But it was possible – not probable, he reminded himself somewhat bitterly – that that was no longer the case. The primary objective he and his men had was to protect people. They were more or less supposed to 'save humanity,' if one didn't mind the cheesiness of it, by whatever means necessary.

If what these kids and their robotic buddies said was true, then he could be a liability to that one, simple objective. Could he ever be neutral with mechs, regardless of whether or not he found out that some actually wanted to help humans? Could he put the well-being of others ahead of his own deeply personal grievances? Could he remain fully loyal to those that gave him that objective when he found that he was no longer in an emotional position to complete it?

This day sucked. When he woke up that morning, never in a million – no, in a trillion – years would he have envisioned having to deal with this.

"We're far enough from the warehouse, aren't we?" Sam asked in a whisper, as though worried about being the first to speak in a couple minutes. "Wouldn't it be easier if Jazz just… walked?"

Yes, it would be easier, Lennox knew. He gave the boy a look.

Mikaela figured it out before Sam did, but Jazz was the first to say anything about it.

"I'm fine with driving – the terrain's got nothin' on me. They got me in this way, and that was without my input whatsoever. 'Sides, wouldn't wanna startle someone and have them shoot at me," he both acknowledged the real reason why Lennox wanted him in vehicle form for as long as possible and also shrugged it off. Jazz almost wanted to tell the men that, if he wanted to, he could easily launch a pretty destructive attack while still mostly in this form. Wisely, he said nothing.

The soldiers had quickly given up asking questions about the mechs' intentions once Jazz answered several inquiries in a row with 'you should probably ask Bee that or at least wait until we're both together,' or something along those lines. So, it was silent for a while longer until Mikaela wondered out loud, "How _did_ you manage to get into that warehouse anyway?"

Jazz laughed. "It's not as exciting as you'd probably expect," he answered her. "Back in wartime missions, man, now _those_ were some infiltrations! Sensor nets a' all sorts to get through, armed mech patrols and weapons grids to bypass, double and triple encrypted files to hack into… Those were life 'n death assignments right there, no doubt about it.

"Getting past these guys required a real different skill set, 'lil lady. I'm glad I had the specs and mods to do it – almost didn't have any means of getting the job done, believe it or not," he said, surprising everyone present. They'd expected him to gloat about how comparatively simple it had been to get past human defenses.

"I'll wait 'til we get to Bee 'fore I tell the story, though, if ya don't mind," he again surprised. "It shouldn't be long now anyway – I'd just rather have everyone hear it at once, ya know? Saves time, consolidates questions." Had he had hands, Jazz probably would've waved one of them dismissively.

They continued their hike in anticipatory silence, even though the teens and the soldiers had very different reasons for wanting to know how Jazz had bested their defenses: one person's entertainment was another person's potentially deadly security flaw.

Just as Sam and Mikaela were starting to feel that the walk back was taking far too much longer than it should have, they spotted dots of bright yellow peeking out in the distance. The couple looked at one another excitedly. As they grew even closer, they could hear the scout's familiar, gentle voice – although they couldn't make out quite what was being said – and got even more excited.

"No shootouts while we were gone," Sam breathed in relief.

The talking up ahead stopped, and when the returning group made its final approach, everyone – man and mech alike – stared at them. Or, more specifically, everyone stared at the silver sports car that was daintily navigating itself through brush and roots. Bumblebee clicked happily at the lot of them, although he made no attempt to move from his sitting position.

"Guess we don't need to ask what the outcome was," a mixed-race soldier, who the teens would come to learn was called Ravi Reece, said in a low voice.

Instead of answering right away, Lennox handed the man one of his two firearms, and motioned for Epps and Togg to pass their extras to someone, too. The Spanish-speaking man from before seemed to be fiddling with a necklace of his, whispering prayers.

"Can I come out now?" asked Jazz, rolling back and forth. "So I can greet my buddy properly and talk to ya face to face?"

"Fine," said Lennox, much to the stunned faces of some of his men.

"It's about time," said the silver mech, already splitting apart his panels and erupting yet again into a creature that simply didn't seem capable of fitting so perfectly into the shape of a Solstice.

A few of the men backed up, looking incredibly nervous about having not one, but two mechs in such close quarters.

"Heya, Bee," the silver ex-Bot greeted eventually, with a grin and wiggling of fingers (Jazz surmised that a real wave or, Primus forbid, a hug, would set the soldiers off). "Been a while, huh?"

Bumblebee blinked at the humans before nodding and answering, "Too long. It's great to see you again."

At length, Jazz leaned back against a tree strong enough to not even budge under his weight, and folded his arms across his chest. The stance was so familiar and lax that it threw a few people.

"I guess I got some explainin' to do," Jazz relented under the silent but heavy gazes. Well aware that Lennox was the man technically in charge, Jazz mostly addressed him when he spoke. "Startin' with how I managed to get past the security measures you put in place."

"That'd be a good start," Lennox agreed.

"Well, I'm sure ya remember at least part of it, but I should probably backtrack a bit. See, I've been planetside for a while now – for weeks before I came across you guys. I was tryin' to piece together what was goin' on here, which Bee and I will get to later," he shot a look at Bumblebee, who lowered his head briefly, and then to Sam and Mikaela, who fidgeted. "Long story short, I followed some abandoned infrastructure, and picked up on your mini wireless network while walking that highway you got somewhere over there," and he gestured off into the distance without raising a hand.

Epps shifted and asked, "You've been in the network?"

Jazz looked down at him. "Yeah. For a while now. It's how we got your language downloads. If I hadn't, I'd be buzzin' and clickin' at you right now, and we wouldn't be getting anywhere fast, now would we?"

Once everyone was quiet and settled again, Jazz continued. "I was looking for the source signal – apparently your little settlement – and I ran into some a' your patrol guys. I scoped 'em out for a few days, learned what I needed to learn, and…"

"No one ever reported any mech sightings," Lennox interrupted, frowning and suspicious.

"I wasn't about to jump out at you," Jazz said lightly.

Lennox, who was reluctant to accept that mechs could elude their patrols so easily, began to protest, "Even still…!"

Respectfully, Bumblebee gave a quiet chirrup to draw the man's focus. "Sir," the scout began, "it's no reflection on the quality of your defenses. Jazz used to be the Autobot's special operations head. Most of the time, not even Decepticons were a match for him."

"I almost wasn't able to get in, though," Jazz consoled. "I said earlier that I was lucky having the right mods. See, the first thing I knew I needed to do was get an Earth alt, which I went back to the highway and did. Second thing I knew I needed to do was convince you guys to bring me into your camp, which meant I needed to know English and have a way to interact with you."

The Spanish guy, Fig (or so they learned a moment later when Lennox called his name to tell him to quiet down), began muttering something angrily in Spanish. Neither teen knew what he was saying, but high school Spanish courses did enable them to pick out a couple words here and there, and they figured he was cursing the fact that they'd more or less personally escorted a mech into human territory.

"Where'd you pick up the guy you got to lie for you?" Lennox asked once Fig had quieted.

That was unexpected. Mikaela and Sam looked sharply at Jazz, and even Bumblebee gave a questioning whir.

The silver mech was smiling faintly, almost apologetically. "I didn't pick up anyone. That was me."

Aside from the three recent arrivals' confused faces, all other reactions fit into one of two categories: mute skepticism or an exclamation of disbelief. Lennox was the latter.

"What?" he just short of shouted. "We talked to that guy, we touched him – and you were there, you weren't even moving!" Lennox's mind reeled. The mech hadn't been moving whatsoever when they'd first come across him, not knowing what he was. They'd had their suspicions even then – everyone had suspicions when it came to vehicles turning up in odd locations those days – but the mech had played his part well. If all mechs could use such deception, then where did that leave them?

"Simulated touch," Jazz corrected, "using a microbot-supported hologram. It was a projection of me, controlled by microbots that I operated from afar. Even if I'd wanted to use an actual human to interact with you, I wouldn't've known where to find one. You guys were the first natives I'd ever crossed paths with." Since the soldiers' faces remained largely unchanged, Jazz offered, "I could power it up again to prove it to you, if you'd like."

"No, we…" Lennox hesitated. "Keep it off. I don't want to deal with that right now," he grumbled at last. Mechs were one thing. Mechs with the ability to masquerade as humans were something else… something Lennox knew he couldn't handle on top of everything else he was dealing with at the moment.

"I thought that guy was fuckin' weird," another man, Donnelly, mumbled to himself.

Jazz heard him, though, and laughed, "Thanks for the compliments," much to the man's unease. Then, to Fig, "And while we're on it, I probably owe you an apology for freakin' you out so much in the warehouse. I didn't mean to put you all on edge like that."

"Yeah, yeah, okay," said Lennox, waving a hand quickly. "That's all still messed up, and we'll deal with that later, but I need to know one thing, and I need to know it now." Once the Ranger was certain he had the mech's full, serious attention, he demanded, "How did you trick the scanners?"

Again, Sam, Mikaela, and Bee were left in the dark. Mikaela, intrigued, asked of Lennox, "Scanners? What kind of scanners?"

It was a touchy subject, apparently. By no means had the patrolmen been okay with anything either mech had said since they'd run into each other, but this business about scanners had them more anxious and unsettled than ever.

Lennox narrowed his eyes at her. "Special tech from the top. They pick up something that only mechs, all mechs, give off. I don't know what," he cut them off from asking, "but it works. It's been used to detect approaching hunters, prevented attempted infiltrations before… We have some set up around safe haven perimeters, and even you guys started pinging on the sensors when you got close." He turned back to Jazz. "It's the only reason we thought it was safe to bring you to a safe house and keep you there. I need to know how you slipped under the radar."

"If I don't know what it's scanning for, I can't be a' hundred percent certain how I trumped it until I get a look at one of these things," Jazz qualified whatever he was about to say, "but I'm willing to bet someone at the top figured out how to scan for spark energy or energon."

Bumblebee gave an unsettled whir at that. "How would they know how to do that?"

Jazz shrugged. "Do any of you know whether or not any humans, anywhere, might've captured a mech and kept it? And kept it alive, I mean, so as to study and experiment with it," asked Jazz.

"No," Lennox shook his head, still very serious. "It's hard to pass communications between settlements, so we have no idea."

"Ah, well…" Jazz shifted slightly, conscientious of not scraping off too much bark as he moved. "I bet they must've. See, Cybertronians are powered by sparks and energon, so every mech 'n femme gives off a spark signature and an energon reading. And yeah, there are definitely ways to pick up on both.

"I was special ops, though. The mods to cancel those readings are normally illegal, because they aren't strictly in line with war conventions and make ya register as offline – dead – if mechs find ya passed out or something, which has gotten 'bots into trouble before," admitted Jazz, "but I'm outfitted with them. I always had them active on missions, and this was a mission for me." He gave a tiny shrug. "You got a saying about old habits." Obviously, the men were uneasy about the news that there were mechs out there capable of besting one of the last advantages they thought they had over the mechs. "I can demonstrate if ya bring me to a scanner, and I might be able to outfit it to pick up on something else in case, if you want. But most mechs don't have the sort of tech I got, if it makes ya feel any better."

"We'll definitely look into it," Lennox accepted the proposition gravely.

"Definitely," Epps agreed, perhaps even more gravely than Lennox.

"Another thing that I think we need the answer to right now," said Lennox, shifting his weight and glancing back and forth between the two mechs. "You told us to wait until we regrouped. Well, we're regrouped, and we're all ears."

The humans all milled about anxiously, wondering what it was the captain was about to demand an explanation for.

The silence was deafening.

"… Just what the hell is going on with your kind taking humans, and what's this bullshit you keep mentioning about a human pet trade?"

* * *

**A.N.**

I don't quite know what to say about this chapter, beyond asking you to review. O.o So, I'll say something about something else…

If you haven't gone and seen Dark of the Moon yet, I fully insist that you do. It's much better than RotF as far as I'm concerned, and some say it's better than the first movie (personally I don't agree, but I understand why they might think that). Cinematic gold? No. Series gold? Possibly, in many ways. Fans of the series should be used to some plot holes, far-from-perfect dialogue and acting, and scenes where the potential emotional impact and/or 'badass factor' isn't reached; knowing and expecting that going in (I expected absolutely NOTHING going in, to be honest), it was a pretty awesome film. It had its stupid moments, but I was thoroughly entertained when I saw it opening day, and given all the hype and praise of the 3D – even from people who utterly loathed every other aspect of the movie – I couldn't wait to go see it again in 3D. I did, precisely 1 week later, and I was not disappointed. It was my first time watching any 3D movie, and I must say, I was impressed – it just seemed so natural.

I could've done without blondie as Mikaela's replacement, and still rather dislike the Carly character. Regardless, I have not been disappointed with the movie as a whole, so I will overlook both her and some of the other things that bothered me about it.

Go see it now if you haven't already. End of story.


	22. Incremental

Title: Property Of

Rating: T (a few uses of 'unclean' language)

Summary: During Cybertronian 'peace,' ex-Cons hide the sentience of and sell humans as pets to secure Earth. Sam and Mikaela might just be the first to grasp the reality of the situation alongside their new owner.

Chapter: Incremental

I extend more thanks to **PyroDea**. As always, it's greatly appreciated. Semi-related, in response to a PM – the reason Jazz doesn't always drop word endings, say you/of/to the same way, etc., is because when I envision him talking, I don't envision him doing it all the time. Depending on where it does and doesn't sound like it'd flow if he were actually saying it, that's where I alter speech.

For those who diligently read the ANs I've made, much of the explanations that the mechs give should seem familiar. However, I'm glad to finally have all this stuff down in one chapter for easy future reference… Hope y'all enjoy.

Oh – and kudos to anyone who knows/figures out how I came up with the names for the rest of the rangers, excluding Togg and the canon-named guys.

* * *

"The first Cybertronian explorers that came across your planet were looking for resources: building materials, repair materials, but mostly sources a' energy. Our kind had been at war for countless millennia, and it destroyed our planet nearly beyond repair," Jazz calmly gave them the background information. The humans hung on his every word. "When we finally called a stalemate, first order a' business was tryin' to bring everyone back together from where we were scattered all over the universe. Then we worked out who and who not t' try for war crimes, cut some deals, and set up a foundation for rebuildin' the most we could a' what was lost." The ex-Autobot kept his emotions out of his voice as he surveyed the collection of men. "Problem was, we didn't have much we could rebuild with. We needed outside sources. So, we began to look for planets that had what we needed."

"And someone thought it was all good and fine to go around invading other people's planets and destroying _their_ civilizations?" prodded Lennox. Despite the bite behind his voice, it was pretty clear that the captain was at least trying to restrain himself.

Bumblebee shook his head. Instead of letting Jazz continue, the scout provided, "Some of the only restrictions were that the planets couldn't have an intelligent species on them, and even if a planet had no sentient dominant species, we were supposed to preserve the natural life already there. Something like what happened here was never supposed to be allowed."

"Is that so?" Lennox said, somewhat dryly.

Donnelley moved from side to side uneasily. "Who dropped the ball on that one then, huh?"

"We all did," said Bee.

"We should've known better than to trust the ex-Cons what discovered this place," Jazz acknowledged with a solemn tilt of his head, "but no one was really willin' t' point fingers. Our peace was still uneasy, an' everyone was afraid the smallest thing could set it off again, including callin' the mechs liars right off the bat, on top a' the fact that we needed the energy badly.

"By the time we did start investigatin' – sendin' business scouts and regulators to make sure the planet checked out – the mechs had done a good job a' hiding all the incriminatin' evidence. They always escorted Prime's envoys, and none of 'em ever got suspicious that somethin' was amiss. Every place they took 'em, there was no trace a' your guys' civilization anywhere," Jazz informed them. "An' like I said; no one was especially eager to find a reason to back away from your planet or to instigate more fighting. Since no red flags went up, they never looked into it more 'n that."

The soldiers exchanged glances amongst themselves. While the men silently deliberated, Bumblebee looked to Sam and Mikaela for reassurance, and while they gave him faint smiles, the teens couldn't hide their disappointment at the explanation they'd now heard a couple times already. Bee didn't blame them. It was, after all, the destruction of their civilization that they were speaking about.

"If that's true," spoke Lennox, slowly moving his gaze from Epps onto Bumblebee, though not yet onto the mech's face, "it could explain the razing…"

"But you said mechs started keeping us as pets," Epps reminded while his captain tried to decide whether or not they should trust that explanation for why mechs leveled pretty much every town they came across. "If that's the case, then first of all, _why_, and second of all, shouldn't someone have noticed that, oh, I don't know, humans _are_ an intelligent species?"

Bumblebee dejectedly replied, "You'd be surprised how much you miss when you aren't looking for anything."

"We had no reason t' doubt what the explorers told us about you, and we've seen a lot a' different types of organics in our days," Jazz saved the yellow mech from having to elaborate. "Problem solving here and there and really perceptive reactions t' what mechs did didn't exactly ring any alarm bells; we'd seen it before, from species way less advanced than yours. Any suspicions we had were only suspicions, 'n everyone else thought it was just a mech braggin' about his pets bein' particularly clever, someone readin' too far into something, or something along those lines."

"We should have noticed," agreed Bee, "but we didn't. Not until recently."

Lennox had certainly heard the explanation, even though he hadn't given any sign of hearing anything after his own muttering about the mechs' scorched-earth tactics. "So people would've been like… exotic animals," he belatedly realized. Finally, he met Bumblebee's optics. Strangely – or perhaps not so strangely – Bumblebee was the one to pause and draw his head in slightly at the eye contact. "But why would you even bother taking humans like that?"

There was some uneasiness amongst the patrolmen, and one guy (a Jeffery Murphy, the teens would learn in passing) exclaimed in a hushed voice, "You believe them?"

"I don't know what I believe," said Lennox, silencing the man with a look. He turned back to Bee, sending occasional glances to Jazz. "Why? They could've just killed us – why bother catching anyone to begin with?"

Jazz gave a convincing sigh while Bumblebee twittered softly. The former answered with a forgetful raising of his hand – as though physically trying to weigh the probability of what he said – that made most of the men tense. "Not entirely certain. Our best guess is that it was a combination of profit motive and wantin' to avoid questions down the line – in case a visitin' mech ran across one a' you." Jazz frowned, and a flash of reflective light ran across his visor as he looked directly at Lennox. "I can't think of a mech that doesn't know about humans anymore. The 'Cons made serious headway by convincin' everyone you weren't sentient, and by bein' so open with you, like they had nothing t' hide."

The subsequent contemplative silence barely stretched a second before Jazz gave a humorless laugh that caught the patrolmen off-guard. "Ya know, I wasn't sent here t' try 'n free you or anythin' like that at first," he confided, oddly conversational in spite of how somber his voice was. "Only t' secretly monitor the 'hunter mechs' or whatever it is ya call 'em, 'cause we suspected they were bein' too rough with ya during capture – breaking the trade regs. Actually," he said, sounding fleetingly entertained, "I was real excited for the job. Not only 'cause it meant I'd be able to bust some ex-Cons while helping some organics out, but 'cause I hoped I'd get to see a human or two in their natural environment, wild n' untamed by traders." Jazz paused for a moment, looking briefly at each soldier and Sam and Mikaela in turn. "I felt like such slag when I stumbled on one a' your ruined cities – when I realized it was way more 'n just the trade regs bein' ignored…"

Sam watched the mech noiselessly. Even after almost ten months living in close quarters with mechs, the teen wouldn't say he was an expert on the aliens' body language, but he could tell with only a cursory glance that the silver ex-Autobot was in genuine, angry disbelief at the memory of his realization. Sam empathized with him; he assumed it would be similar to – albeit worse than – humans suddenly finding out one day that dogs or cats had their own intelligent civilizations somewhere, and they'd been stolen away from everything they'd ever known to play pet.

"If these… other mechs, these… what did you call them?" Lennox struggled to remember what the two mechs had called those of their kind that had come to Earth.

"Decepticons," Jazz supplied softly. "Ex, technically, not that it seems worth anythin' now…"

"If your 'ex-Decepticons' hid everything, does that mean… you were the first one to put it together? And only because you came here?" Lennox asked, staring at Jazz.

The saboteur gave the slightest of shrugs. "Yes 'n no. I was the first to confirm it, but I think Bee mighta been convinced of it before I found out. A lot of stuff started comin' together at about the same time," he explained, more than eager to share the credit with Bee and his teammates. "There's only a handful of mechs that know, other than the 'Cons directly responsible. Prime hopes we can figure everythin' out without relaunchin' the war and simultaneously minimizin' retaliation against the humans we got, so he can't just jump out and tell everyone the truth all at once. Personally, though," Jazz said with a frown, "I don't think that's possible. I guess only time'll tell…"

Lennox narrowed his eyes again, and this time turned his gaze onto the kids. "And you?"

Sam looked taken aback. Mikaela ventured, "What about us?"

"What's your side of the story?" inquired Lennox, as though that should have been clear already.

The teens blinked at one another. "What do you mean, 'our side'? We believe them," Mikaela answered a bit warily, wondering what the man was getting at. "I don't really think Sam and I have any other theories."

Now looking officially put out – yet also tired, in a way that neither teen really understood – Lennox shook his head, "No – your personal story. Theirs, whether I trust it or not, was the technical aspect of it." Hazel eyes moved back and forth between Sam and Mikaela. When Lennox spoke next, the strength of his voice conflicted with the sudden weakness in his face (and Mikaela again noted that something else was definitely going on in that man's head). "I want to know the firsthand experience of it – the human perspective." The human experience was something, quite frankly, that the captain had multiple reasons for wanting and not wanting to know.

"Ah," said Sam, looking sidelong at Bumblebee.

"Well…" Mikaela frowned and looked at her feet for a moment. She crossed her arms, but in a sort of self-hug rather than out of irritation. "It was scary at first," she said plainly, lifting her eyes to Lennox again. "Our families were with us when it happened, because we were in the middle of moving to a safe point. Our friend Miles and us, we were in a car, on a highway, when a pair of mechs showed up out of the trees, so we all ran for it – everyone on the road ran for it. But, the mechs gave chase, and… we didn't stand a chance," she said, rather devoid of inflection.

"They fired nets at us, and the things sealed up – magnetically or something," Mikaela continued, giving her arm a rub at remembered irritation from plant debris and the sting of the net. "Then they collected all of us and brought us onto a ship. There were other people there – almost a dozen of us altogether. They used some stuff to heal up any injuries we'd gotten when they were hunting us down, but other than that… It was only a few more days until we were locked behind bars in some pet store with even more people, who'd been there longer than us, and who finally were able to tell us what was going on."

"It was three days of hell," Sam added, tearing his eyes away from Bee, who he'd been watching the entire time. The mech had been watching Mikaela encouragingly, but Sam still saw the mech's various plates twitch at times with empathy. He glanced between Lennox and Epps, than quickly at Jazz, before back to Lennox. "Not physically as much as emotionally. The mechs that were there before we got to the store spoke English. One of them told us all outright – more or less – that we needed to shut up, calm down, and not cause any problems, otherwise they'd kill us. He mentioned selling us, but we didn't know what he was talking about. I think we thought we were going to be turned into slaves, which I… I guess wasn't all that far from the reality of it," he tacked on in a mumble. Bee warbled sadly at their side, and Jazz shifted weight uncomfortably.

"We were scared," Mikaela reiterated, nodding at Sam's input. "We didn't know if something we did would set them off and get us euthanized – that's the exact word they used."

Jazz grumbled something, but it was in Cybertronian and not English, so no one had any clue what it was he'd said.

"But we were lucky," added Sam suddenly. He fidgeted before continuing, "Bumblebee bought us, and even though I know he thought we were only supposed to be house pets or whatever, he was really nice. Like… lady-who-insists-her-cats-really-are-her-children kind of nice." He shot Bee another look, and the mech gave him the tiniest of smiles (although Sam still wasn't positive how Bumblebee could pull that off without having a mouth).

The way the kid was able to talk so calmly about being 'bought' didn't sit well with Will. That wasn't even taking into consideration how heavy his heart felt right at that moment, imagining how scared a little girl would've been in the same situation. He didn't even want to think of the possibility of his daughter 'acting up' and being… being…

He turned to Bumblebee, suspiciously studying the look being shared between the yellow mech and the raggedy teenager.

Whether or not the lot of them were telling him the whole truth, and whether or not the yellow mech was the pet owner of the year or not, it didn't change the fact that mechs had been ravaging Earth for at least the past couple of years – and there were signs indicating that they'd been here even longer than that.

"And what do you plan on doing about it?" the captain addressed the mechs this time, internally wincing; he shouldn't be standing around addressing mechs, he should be _shooting_ them.

"Like I said – we don't exactly know yet," Jazz informed him honestly. "Prime wants t' take things step by step if possible, see what does n' doesn't work best, 'cause he's concerned about what'll happen to the humans we already got fillin' up the colonies and Cybertron. We' got some end-goals in mind, though, number one a' which is shuttin' down this fragged up trade and returnin' everyone home."

Jazz was also certain that Optimus would insist on helping the humans rebuild their lost civilizations just like the mechs themselves were doing, but Jazz was realistic enough not to mention it, because that would mean assuming that both this mess might actually get sorted out one day and that humans would still want anything to do with Cybertronians at that point… and Jazz healthily doubted that either of those things would ever happen.

"I meant you, specifically – you and whoever else is sneaking around right now," Lennox clarified for the mechs. Again, he gave the teenagers a calculating once-over, proving that he included them in his question. "What are you planning on actually doing? You said earlier – he said earlier," the man corrected himself mid-speech with a nod in Bumblebee's direction, "that he didn't need us to take him to the settlement, which neither of you are driving into as long as I can prevent it anyway. If the settlement doesn't matter," posited Lennox, his skepticism beginning to resurface, "then what are you doing here?"

"Settlements mean people, and it's people that we needed to find," Jazz tried to mollify him. "It's probably better we weren't in the actual settlement anyway, 'cause we don't wanna cause a panic. What Bee meant was that as long as we had people t' talk with – not just any ol' man or woman who came across us, though, but ranking people like yourself – we could start workin' stuff out."

"Such as?" Lennox immediately prompted.

"See, with you lot, we can get a better idea a' what the situation is, and we got people we can give our side of the info to. And maybe – though we're not askin' right away, and we'll understand if ya don't ever wanna help us with this," Jazz made sure to acknowledge and show that he accepted, "we could get some help when it comes to your data networks."

Without hesitation, every patrolman tensed or moved.

It was Epps who asked, "What do you mean?"

"We know the businessmechs took down your global information highways, but that some places managed t' keep local networks despite Decepticon encryptions. That's how my friends n' I got your language," Jazz reminded. "But even though we got past the Cybertronian firewalls, any network other than your little one is so scrambled it's nearly impossible to get through since we're starting from scratch. If any a' you are good with tech, or Primus-willing know a cryptologist or somethin', it'd make figurin' out what the 'Cons have been using your systems for – if anythin' – that much easier."

Jazz knew that there was a lot left to learn about Decepticon intelligence on this planet, and the desire for discovery ate at his processors.

"…You're asking us to help give you access to our already vulnerable networks," said Lennox slowly. The captain didn't know if that was the most worrisome thing the mech had said, or merely close to the top of the list.

"It'd be nice to have human assistance for navigatin' them, yeah," agreed the silver mech, "but we aren't about to make you do somethin' you don't want to. If you warm up t' the idea, that's great for everyone, but it's okay if ya don't. For the time being, I think Bee and I are more than willing to back off a' your networks entirely if ya want, though I can't guarantee we won't have to get back in there if somethin' comes up, though." When Bumblebee gave him a questioning look, Jazz said, "Just being brutally honest. Those're the facts."

While the soldiers thought that over, and while Lennox and Epps gave one another subtle facial cues every few seconds as though they were communicating telepathically (if the mechs didn't know any better, they might've assumed that that was exactly what was happening), Sam and Mikaela gave each other and then Bumblebee nervous smiles.

"And what if we told you to get lost?" asked Lennox, loud and clear, completely shattering the uneasy standoff.

The man's voice was completely serious. Sam's eyes widened under the impression that Lennox really was about to tell them to take a hike, and that all of this had been for nothing.

Bumblebee and Jazz glanced at one another. "I wouldn't advise it," Jazz answered Lennox steadily. "But if ya wanted us t' leave ya alone, we would. Bee and I would leave without a fight. We'd still try and find another bunch a' people to try and work with," he readily disclosed, "but we'd respect your wishes and keep you outa it."

Another look passed between the two top-ranking patrolmen, which led Mikaela to wonder how long Epps and Lennox had been working together to be able to read the other so well.

"Even if we kept the kids?" amended Lennox.

"What?"

Sam, Mikaela, and Bumblebee all asked the one-word question simultaneously. The yellow mech straightened at once and looked quickly between Lennox and the teenagers, his panel sensors sweeping up to their highest points without even thinking about it.

Those were the quickest and greatest movements Bee had made since sitting down, and the nearest patrolmen – Reece, Fig, Murphy, and a black-haired guy named Sebastian Pierce (who was seemingly the youngest and most nervous of the bunch) – all leaned or stepped away and reached for their weapons.

Everyone else stared at the mech. Expressions ranged from expected wariness, concern from Jazz and the teens, and studious measurement from Epps and Lennox.

Bumblebee continued to look between 'his' humans and Lennox, waiting for him to say more, or to say he was only joking. Surely… surely they wouldn't really take Sam and Mikaela away from him, would they? He had to stay with them, had to protect them – he'd known he had to protect Sam since the moment he saw the human behind bars in Dropkick's store.

Not sure whether this was a test or not, Jazz whirred quietly, hoping to sooth the startled scout. Bee's worried optics turned to his elder, but only briefly, before fastening them back on the captain who was still monitoring Bee's every movement.

"Sir, would you really make us…?" Sam ventured.

"It's not up to us," Jazz cut him off. Sam, Mikaela, and Bee looked sharply at him – particularly Bumblebee. "Bee, it's not up to us," repeated the saboteur, much to the scout's quiet dismay, and Jazz gave the clearly stressed mech a look that, while gentle, left no room for argument. Then, to Lennox, he said, "I don't think either of us has the right t' tell them what to do. I think they should choose whether they wanted to stay or not, if it came t' that.

"Still," he said after a heavy moment, "we wouldn't put up a fight about it, either way. If you kicked 'em out and wouldn't let 'em stay, we wouldn't argue that, but if you insisted they stay even if you didn't want us around… I think I'd probably agree with you."

"What?" said Bee again.

"They've been away from other humans for a while now, and Primus knows what we'd be dealin' with if we had to search out another settlement. It'd probably be best for the both of 'em to stay with these guys if it does come to that," Jazz was willing to admit what Bumblebee, emotionally put on the spot, wasn't able to right away. The mech was surprised to see that the two teenagers looked almost as put out by the suggestion as Bee did. "Although I hope it doesn't," he made sure to tack on at the end, for everyone's benefit.

Having yet another conversation with their eyes, Lennox and Epps stepped right up alongside one another. They followed the silent conversation with an actual one, in hushed but urgent tones that Sam and Mikaela couldn't make out, and that Jazz and Bumblebee respectfully tried not to overhear.

Lennox gave the mechs a final scan, let his gaze fall heavily and lengthily on Sam and Mikaela, and then alternated between looking at Jazz and Bumblebee while he spoke. "I don't think you're lying – not entirely. Experience tells us never to trust mechs, so I don't know what to believe and what not to believe, and I'm not going to lie and tell you otherwise." He paused, as though for dramatic effect. "Our objective is simple: we do whatever is best for the people we're protecting, and whatever we can in the interest of turning this… this cluster fuck of a situation around." He paused again, and ignored Bee's curious head tilting at the phrase. "If you're telling even half of the truth – and from my perspective, I'm taking a risk even in believing that much," and he paused to quell the looks of protest that the two teens immediately adopted, "then we can't turn you away. _Yet_," stressed Lennox.

"So… they can stay?" Sam warily questioned.

Lennox blinked at the pair of aliens, then at Sam. "I can't let them run off before I think I've got as much of the full story as I'm going to get out of them. They'll stay in the supply post, with fulltime guards, of course." He turned to Bumblebee this time. "Before we do anything, though, you're going to have to figure out a way to stop ringing on our scanners before you're allowed past the border whatsoever – and a disguise and cover story that we could work with to explain a new vehicle suddenly turning up within the perimeter."

Jazz – who had been politely quiet – whistled at his ex-comrade. "Bee, I know you used to have the same energy-negating stealth mods that I do. You didn't drop 'em 'cause a' the ceasefire, did you?" Because, short of altering the machines themselves (still under the assumption that that was what they were scanning for), then there wasn't much Bee could do about shielding himself from the scanners.

Embarrassedly, and still gently, the scout warbled and looked at the ground. "No, I… I still have them."

"You have them, too?" asked Lennox, stiffly. Almost reluctantly, Bumblebee nodded. "And what did you do during this war of yours? Special ops, too?"

"Not always, no," Bee replied. "Primarily, I was a… a scout. Sometimes I answered to Jazz, other times I answered to intel, and other times I answered directly to Prime."

"Why didn't you have them turned on? I thought you were in the habit a' keepin' them on like I was," Jazz asked, curious.

Another warble, this time accompanied by a twitching of sensory panels. "I completely forgot about them. Not that I would've thought to turn them on anyway," he hastened to defend himself against Jazz's skeptical expression and to assure the humans. "I wouldn't have been trying to hide – we wanted you to find us."

Epps pulled a small metallic device out of one of his pants pockets. "Can you turn on your whatever-it-is?" he requested, eyes fast on the device.

"Uh… okay." Bumblebee – feeling a sudden twist in his wires from performance anxiety – picked through his dormant subroutines and found the activation coding for the stealth modifications. For the first time in what seemed like forever, he activated the upgrades.

Everyone was silent in anticipation, and finally Epps shook his head.

"I can't believe this. Two giant-ass mechs sitting twenty feet away, and this thing isn't picking up anything…" Epps frowned at the device.

"You know, save for mini and micro-mechs, Bee and I are some a' the smaller 'bots you'll come across," Jazz mentioned offhandedly. "Relatively standard, actually. Wait until ya see someone like Prime… or if one a' the living cities was still around. Now, _those_ are giant-ass mechs."

"Living… city?" several people, Sam and Mikaela included, repeated.

Jazz smirked almost sadly. "Yeah, once upon a time. Forget I said anything."

If there was one thing the humans weren't going to do with that information, it was forgetting about it. However, there were more important things to deal with right now.

"Although we still need to talk about how the hell it is you do that, that solves only part of the problem. What about the disguise? Do you need something to model off of?" pressed Lennox, nodding at the yellow mech who still looked remarkably alien.

At least Jazz had a vague familiarity about him, since it was pretty easy to tell what some of his limbs and body parts turned into. A few years ago, someone might even have mistaken him as an incredibly high tech invention from Japan or something, because he at least had a superficial Earthlike feel to him. Bumblebee, on the other hand, had no recognizable component to his whole body. In fact, there weren't even any wheels or anything that indicated that he could have turned into something that moved (leading Mikaela and Sam to wonder, not for the first time, what it was he was currently able to turn into). Everything that did make him up practically screamed 'alien,' from the rough texture of some of his innards, to the shallow alien engravings on certain components, and the irregular outlines to most of his yellow armor… and that wasn't even mentioning the currently tucked-away claw-like feet that still somewhat bothered the teens to this day, since those were glaring reminders of a darker side to the mech species.

Lennox's question had the two mechs whirring quickly back and forth at one another. This lasted only a couple seconds before Bumblebee, likely deciding it was rude to carry on any type of conversation that the humans couldn't understand, gave a nod and looked questioningly at the captain.

"I already have the specifics of an alternate mode that should suffice. The physical reformatting of my frame, though, normally goes a lot smoother if the changes are made during an initial transformation." If Bumblebee had a lip to bite, Sam imagined the mech would've been biting it. Mikaela clearly felt much the same way, because she smiled faintly. "May I get up and… and have free range to transform?" he requested hopefully.

The captain agreed more quickly than he had to any previous request, for which Sam and Mikaela shared a hopeful glance of their own.

"Thank you," said Bee graciously, and he steadily climbed off of the ground; the nearest men stepped away, giving him room. The scout's eyes brightened almost to white, and his frame gave off a quiet whirring. Bumblebee blinked once at Sam and Mikaela and then said to Lennox, "I think it'd be fitting if, as a cover story, you simply told anyone who asked that _I_ belonged to _them_." This time, his smile was distinct as he glanced at his ex-pets. "Sam did mention that he owned a Camaro…"

Sam barely had time to light up at the idea of the role reversal, not to mention that Bee had all but said that he'd decided on the Camaro as his disguise, before the mech managed to burst into motion while staying in place.

Similar to Jazz's transformation, Bumblebee's entire body began to move, with plates sliding and cables looping, joints bending and gears rotating. That was amazing by itself. Right now, though, the bits of yellow and black armor on the mech were not merely changing place, but changing shape. As opposed to sliding perfectly into place against other pieces of armor, the plates became pliable and stretched or thinned in order to meld against neighboring pieces; some parts disappeared completely; and other sections suddenly appeared or expanded, such as a rippling of leather-like texture over silvery panels, or treads rolling out of nowhere and winding in a circle to form recognizable wheels.

Overall, the scout seemed to be crouching down into a rather feline-esque pouncing position as he transformed, using his shifting arms to brace himself briefly on the ground as he collapsed in on himself.

After a drawn out moment and a reverberating bounce as the front half of the not-car finally fell into place, a pristine yellow Camaro with black racing stripes and headlights aglow sat in the middle of the forest.

"This will work, right?" asked Bumblebee.

No one answered right away.

Mikaela made to say something, but found that she couldn't at the last minute. She had to settle for staring with a partially open mouth, caught somewhere between the amazement at watching the alien mechanics turn into something much more familiar and her admiration of the sleek lines and curves of the modern sports car.

Sam, after his share of staring, eventually managed to say, "That is so awesome."

With that compliment, the transformed mech gave a tiny chirrup and swiped his windshield wipers as if to say thanks.

"Some of the other guys might ask how two kids your age came to own and maintain a car like that," Lennox noted realistically, "but we can work with this as long as you keep those scan blocks in place. I cannot believe I'm saying this," he added in a mutter, shaking his head tiredly.

Chuckling at that and earning a heated glare, Jazz followed after Bee and suddenly there were two vehicles keeping a bunch of humans company.

If anything, Lennox only looked more tired. He spent a couple seconds eyeing each car, then sighed exhaustedly, made a face that said 'I can't believe I'm standing in a forest talking to two cars that are actually mechs,' and cleared his throat. "We'll head back now. Before the patrol shift, you'll need to answer a few more questions… Then we can figure out a guard schedule for you, and get these two," he gestured at Sam and Mikaela, "cleaned up. Two mechs is bad enough; I'm not dealing with kids who look like they were raised by wolves on top of that."

* * *

Humans were an annoyingly capable species when it came to reproduction. They were nowhere near masters at maximizing on it – the fleshlings didn't come close, due to their suboptimal offspring carrying capacity, relatively short breeding lives, and the complexity of their females' fertility cycles – but they were still more than able to multiply between generations. One could become two, or one could become ten, and those one or ten could become dozens more, and they could then proceed to spread out to the far reaches of the planet.

It was annoying the slag out of Barricade.

"_**Wh-wh-wh-which fleshy is nexxxxxxxxt?**_" yet another one of Barricade's annoyances asked him, vocals as glitchy as ever.

"_**That depends,**_" growled the Decepticon warrior-turned-intel agent. "_**Are we following Starscream's prescribed order, or one that makes some logistical sense?**_"

The Witwicky clan – and whatever foolish clans had decided to interbreed with them – was a highly irritating collection of humans. Without any other references to the glasses that they sought, the Decepticons were forced into the weak practice of _hoping_ that the item had been passed down to subsequent family members. Following the otherwise logical law of inheritance, Starscream had ordered Barricade and Blackout to track down each descendant in the chronological order of their birth, starting with the oldest descendent.

The problem with that was that Starscream had never stepped foot on this planet. He had not taken into account the fact that some of those many, many descendants could have moved to different fleshling countries, some of which were separated from one another by vast stretches of water (another problem he had with this stupid planet and its pathetic dominant species). And, of course, some descendants had done just that. There were already several dead ends on lineage trails, where Barricade had been able to trace the names by foraging through American databanks, but fell short when a human moved and their information became property of another network.

Thus far, he cursed the differing leaderships between the nations of the United States and Canada, Spain, Germany, England, and France, all of which were home to Witwicky descendants. Or, at least, _had_ been home to one or more Witwickies the last any human had checked. As that thought crossed Barricade's processors, he also cursed the humans who had disappeared off his radar simply for having abandoned the supposed city of their residence – likely due to mech activity – leaving no hint as to where they had relocated.

Blackout was in charge of investigating and trying to find all of those individuals as he made his rounds over the planet, dismantling whatever technological traces he could find. In the strictest sense, that meant they weren't obeying Starscream, since they were supposed to be eliminating the potential sources of the AllSpark glasses one at a time. But, as far as Barricade was concerned, that plan was disastrously misinformed.

For the thousandth time – almost literally at this point – the 'ex' Decepticon cursed Starscream's lack of foresight. Although Barricade was mostly certain that the ex-air commander hadn't known for sure that Earth housed either the AllSpark or Megatron at first, he didn't think that excused the Seeker's eagerness to take down all human communication and data networks. In a joint order from both the rogue Decepticon and the mechs in charge of Earth trades, all technological sources and means of data were to be dismantled "beyond reasonable repair," was the direct quote. That way, should their own mechs really need to access it later, it would be possible after great length – a length that would likely drive any opposing mechs away from wanting to piece it back together.

Why hadn't they simply run invasively thorough diagnostics and targeted data retrievals right from the beginning? The moment when Starscream had first realized the planet's sentient dominant species had developed hack-able technology, why hadn't they scoured it as was usually protocol?

'Because there'd seemed like there was little reason to at the time' wasn't a good enough excuse for Barricade. It wouldn't have cost too much time or energy to simply deep scan the entirety of the fleshlings' networks, even after an encryption had been placed on all the data to keep the trade mechs who had nothing to do with Starscream's side of the equation well out of the picture.

If they had, they would've quickly learned that Megatron had been discovered by a human long ago, would have had the exact locations of all that human's descendants in mere moments, and possibly – if they had been lucky – the location of the damned-to-the-Pit glasses or even the fragging AllSpark itself. After tracking Megatron to this planet, it had been obvious that the AllSpark must be here somewhere as well: why _else_ would Megatron have navigated his way here?

On that note, it was possible that, had they actually taken their time with the humans' networks, they could just as easily have determined the location of the Cube as they did the fact that Megatron had been discovered. Certainly, had the humans stumbled upon the AllSpark – and as a large cube with alien scrawl and distinct energy emissions, it was somewhat likely to have been at least glanced by the human insects if it had crashed on land – then the data surrounding the sighting would have been simple to find.

Now, Blackout was dividing his efforts between hunting down the wayward Witwicky fleshlings and still trying to piece together the related information he could find about human knowledge of Cybertronians; all four intimately in-the-know mechs – Blackout, Frenzy, Barricade, and Starscream – knew that, somewhere, the humans should have information on precisely where Megatron currently was. And yet, the mechs still only had a vague sense.

Admittedly, Barricade didn't care that they had largely stopped looking into Megatron. The moment they'd found out he was safely contained by some human organization or another, they didn't really need any further details. He was out of the way, and that was all that mattered; information searches regarding him and the humans that had him had practically ceased right then and there, with attention turning towards the fleshling whose photograph had been superimposed with Cybertronian navigation symbols…

The mishandling of the information networks was a serious problem, but something nobody could fix now. There was, however, a much smaller problem that the shock trooper had with another of Starscream's shortsighted instructions that _could_ be remedied.

Barricade would much rather investigate the Earthlings based on order of proximity, not linear hierarchy. The latter might have made more ideological sense, but in practice, it would _greatly _extend their search time.

"_**Star-arscream isn't here-ere-ere,**_" stuttered Frenzy, practically spitting sparks in his eagerness to continue the mission. "_**Makes logistical se-e-ense to lo-o-cate AllSp-spark quiiiiiiicker! Ne-ext Witwicky in the a-a-area!**_"

"_**Then our next target is a Martin Simon Witwicky, a third generation descendant,**_" informed Barricade, who was only eager to get Frenzy to silence himself and be able to release some frustration on the next human settlement they visited.

And Primus, was he ready to release some fragging frustration…

* * *

Sam couldn't get over how awesome the latest Camaro model was, and he certainly couldn't get over the fact that the car was actually Bumblebee, who had offered to turn the tables of ownership. On the lattermost point, Sam wasn't certain he was comfortable with the suggested story beyond the value of it as a cover – which he hoped Bee realized.

That didn't mean he didn't badly want to own a _non_-sentient version of the car.

Mikaela was visibly fighting her urges to pop the hoods on both Bumblebee and Jazz and re-familiarize herself with a car's inner workings, and it amused Sam to no end. Every time he caught her snapping her attention away from eyeing the transformed ex-Autobots, he grinned to himself. He didn't dare mention it out loud for fear of being a hypocrite, though, because he was fighting an even more ridiculous urge to climb on top of the smooth, shiny not-cars and slide around on them.

"What time is it?" queried Mikaela. She ran a finger through her damp hair, which was once more of a manageable length and, stopping just level with her chest, was even a little shorter than it had been before being captured.

After being escorted back to the supply post, the men moved around some of the cars to make a space for Bumblebee to slide in next to Jazz (and although the mechs had offered to help, the patrolmen had been quite adamant about not letting them do anything). Lennox picked four men to take the first guard shift: Fig, Pierce, the last patrolman they were introduced to – also known as Brian Mulderrig – with Epps in charge. Then he established the order in which the rest of their squad would, one at a time, come to relieve the initial four and take their places.

Once that was sorted out, Lennox sent two others – Donnelly and Togg – to escort Sam and Mikaela into civilian quarters where they could clean themselves up.

Sam finished up long before Mikaela did, and came out with raggedly cut hair that, at this point, he didn't really care about having touched up or not. He'd carefully shaven his pathetic excuse for a beard and moustache and once more sported a smooth face, as well as a minty fresh mouth for the first time in too many months.

Mikaela easily took more than double the time he did, but emerged with cleanly shaven legs and underarms – albeit with several painful looking nicks, likely due to the roughness of her skin and how long it had been since the last time she'd shaved – and a hair trim that was done a fair bit more neatly than Sam's. She, too, had a meticulously brushed and mouth-washed mouth, and was so ecstatic at the reintroduction to hygiene that she couldn't stop grinning when she finally got out of the bathroom.

They'd been taken right back to the warehouse after that, and enjoyed Bumblebee's enthusiasm about their altered appearances (and waved aside his apologies that he now realized how horrible a job he'd done at trying to keep them clean and groomed).

"It's going on ten-thirty," said Epps, stealing a glance at his watch. "We have a couple more hours before the patrol comes back."

After they'd returned to the warehouse, Lennox split up the team again to send some of his men back out onto patrol. The rest of the original team eventually came back only to file out of the warehouse a couple hours ago, when the patrol switched. The second group of men, eight in total, had been floored by the sudden presence of the Camaro now parked alongside the very Solstice that had been putting them all on edge for weeks now. They'd been openly suspicious about the strange pair of teenagers, too, but Lennox took the suggested cover story and ran with it.

"Well, don't just stand around gawking," the second shift's apparent leader spoke up when it became clear that no one wanted to drop the issue. The man had an English accent, and shortly after he introduced himself as 'Mr. Graham,' Mikaela and Sam began wondering how it was that a British guy had wound up running a safe point patrol in the states. "Will's got it covered, I'm sure. We've got a job to do."

And, although he'd given Lennox something of a suspicious backwards glance that practically guaranteed he'd come looking for a more in-depth explanation later, Graham ushered the rest of his ilk to collect their gear and head out.

It wasn't long after that that Lennox began dismissing some of his men, one at a time, and with an apology for the day's events – as though he could have prevented what had happened. If anyone was surprised that Bumblebee eagerly joined the captain in dishing out apologies (Sam and Mikaela certainly weren't surprised), they didn't show it beyond a stare or two.

"Oh," Mikaela acknowledged Epps's time update with a nod. Ten-thirty wasn't very late at all, and yet she was incredibly tired. Whether that was a result of the day's excitement, or a side effect of having spent the last ten months following a completely different schedule, Mikaela didn't know. Her only consolation was looking over at Sam and seeing that he was trying his hardest to keep himself from yawning.

They'd exhausted most logistical conversation material by that time, including several reiterations of what Jazz and Bee first explained in the forest. Epps in particular was interested in learning more about the Cybertronian war the mechs had mentioned, and Jazz was perfectly willingly to explain. But, after a point, even that faded off into boredom.

"Hey, if…" Mulderrig, who was seated atop one of the supply crates with a leg pulled up, "… if you two were his house pets, did you, you know, get new names or anything? Like 'Fluffy' or 'Fido' or whatever?"

There was that reference to a domesticated animal being named Fluffy, Bee noted with some confusion. He could only conclude that it was a popular designation for Earth pets.

Mikaela blinked at the friendly, genuinely curious question. First she blinked up at Mulderrig, then she blinked at Sam, then at Bee. She turned back to the soldier. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, Bumblebee gave us names. Not that we knew them at the time. Sam was Signal, I was Complement."

"Which spelling?" asked Fig.

With a small sigh, Mikaela said, "Spelled with an 'e'. Either way, they were better names than what we gave him – Yellow."

"And, uh, how'd you decide on those?" Mulderrig addressed Bumblebee with some hesitance, much to the yellow mech's surprise and delight. "If you don't mind me asking." With a wary smile he gestured at the teens with a shoulder. "I can at least figure out where their inspiration came from."

"Well, I… First I'd like to remind you that I had no idea humans were sentient at the time, so please don't be offended," Bumblebee gave his disclaimer and fell more heavily onto his tires. "When I went to pick out a human to take home, Sam seemed to pull my attention – like he was signaling me to look at him. And, since he and Mikaela had been interacting with each other at the time, I…" He buzzed quietly with embarrassment, and the whole body of his vehicle disguise vibrated. "I assumed they were mates. I didn't want to put either of them through the emotional harm of separation, so I bought her, too. So, in a way, she was Sam's complement, and I thought it was a pretty enough name."

"Classy," Jazz agreed not a moment later.

The men were nodding in understanding, until Epps's face creased into a frown.

"Hold up. You thought they were mates? And you got both of them anyway?" he inquired, voice hitching a fraction with skepticism.

Whatever the reason for the man's concern, Bumblebee did not understand. "Excuse me?"

"You thought these two might be popping babies out, and you went ahead and brought both of them home with you?" Then, eyes widening and turning onto the teens, "You weren't neutered or anything freaky like that, were you?"

Sam's eyes grew instantly. He hastily looked between Bumblebee and Mikaela, silently asking if the possibility had ever crossed their minds, because it certainly had never occurred to him how routine it might've been for their fellow captives to be operated on like that.

The patrolmen smirked at Sam's reactions, but not without a flash of empathy for how he was probably feeling.

Bumblebee still didn't understand, though. "Am I supposed to be afraid of human babies?" he ventured. Last he checked, they didn't exactly spit acid or eat metal. "And no, I didn't do anything of the sort to them. Why would I?"

Epps laughed at the scout's innocence, wondering only belatedly how strange it was to be sitting here and laughing at the expense of a mech. "Some of us are afraid of kids, but probably not for the reasons you're thinking of. As for the second part… we do it a lot to our pets, because most people don't like the idea of their animals running around and multiplying all over the place. I'm guessing that that wasn't a common housewarming gift for you guys' new pets? No Bob Barker robot equivalent?"

"Oh, no," Bumblebee eagerly agreed, ignoring the reference to a human with whom he was not at all familiar (something to file away under 'Ask Sam or Mikaela Later'). "I would not have added that to their list of grievances. And if you'll forgive me again for speaking from the perspective of most mechs," he again prefaced, "I don't think anyone would have advocated for something that made it harder for humans to bear offspring."

"Eh?" said Pierce, eyes narrowing. "Why's that?"

Apparently trying to give Bumblebee a break, Jazz answered in his place. "Not knowing you were an intelligent bunch, with codes a' conduct for courtship and all that, 'bots couldn't figure out why it was so difficult to get ya t' breed in captivity. Younglings were in hot demand, so any measures taken t' _stop_ humans breedin' – like neuterin' or spayin' – woulda been real counterproductive."

"Younglings are kids, right?" asked Epps, tensing some. The others did the same. "You're talking about mechs wanting to own little kids."

Bee whirred regretfully. "Yes, unfortunately. For the purposes of training and longevity, as well as something about finding diminutive creatures more adorable, most mechs would jump at the opportunity to… purchase a human child." While the men shifted nervously and Epps dipped his head, Bumblebee hesitantly finished, "We're told that they are especially hard for trappers to catch. That's why there was always such interest in getting the humans the centers did have to breed."

Epps muttered a few curses under his breath. Shifting again, he set serious eyes on Bee's windshield. "Are they at least well taken care of?"

As if that would make it any better? Mikaela frowned, and she couldn't help the suspicion that the man was digging for something… but for what?

"Not always," Bumblebee was forced to admit. "Like any young, they have more pointed needs than adults, and not… well, not everyone can provide for them. We know firsthand. A friend of mine took in a youngling from someone who couldn't take proper care of her. She's the sweetest thing, too – very lucky he was there for her. She was a mess when he first got her."

"Little girl, huh?" Epps mumbled, clearly to himself, so no one responded to him. He looked down again for a second, and when he raised his head, he sighed. "Don't bring this up again. If he doesn't ask, do not mention this to Will."

That was not a reaction they were expecting.

"Why?" asked Sam.

"Because it'd piss him off and make it even harder to convince him to work with you, which is already gonna take a huge effort. He's already putting aside more than most would just to let you in here, so don't mention mechs taking kids captive, and don't mention that they mistreat them," Epps advised with a stern shake of his head.

"…Sure thing," Sam agreed, although confused.

Mikaela rubbed her chin once. "Does this have something to do with why he dislikes mechs more than usual? I mean, I could be off base, but it seemed to me like he had more than just general issues with them, like he had a personal problem," she said. Sam nodded absently in agreement. Bumblebee, who hadn't picked up on all the implications of the body language, chirred questioningly.

The four patrolmen gave one another tense and uncertain looks, and Mikaela knew she was on to something.

"Will's my friend," Epps said after a minute. "We've had each other's backs since well before this alien invasion shitstorm hit. It's not my place to tell you where he's coming from, but I'm not gonna lie. It's not pretty, and I don't blame him one bit." He glanced between the mechs, then between Mikaela and Sam. "If you want to know, you need to ask him yourself. Preferably without those two looming in the background," he added, gesturing at the vehicles.

"Fine," Mikaela relented – but only for the moment. She pulled her legs up and rested her head on her knees. When the opportunity presented itself, she definitely wanted to ask the captain what had happened to him.

Suddenly, Sam let loose an almost obnoxiously loud yawn. Mikaela gave him a glare before the contagious yawn spread, and she found herself doing the same thing.

"Tired?" Jazz asked. At least, the teens thought it was a question at first, and then belatedly realized it was a sarcastic observation.

"Yeah," Sam answered nonetheless. Apparently the first yawn had opened a floodgate, and he found himself yawning a second time, then a third. "Long day. Bed or no, I think I'm ready to pass out." Bumblebee clicked in concern, until Sam assured him it was only another way to say he was incredibly tired… which bothered Sam. He had intended to stay up and keep an eye out for Bee and Jazz on the off chance that the soldiers thought it'd be a nice idea to try and pull something while they were all sleeping. Thankfully Sam thought these guys were pretty legit, and Lennox – the guy who Sam was most worried about up and changing his mind about the mechs – wasn't supposed to come back to take a guard shift until morning.

After a short mental debate, Sam situated the blankets and pillows he'd been given in front of Bumblebee's bumper. A few minutes later, Mikaela grabbed her bedding and set up next to Sam.

They didn't give in to sleep right away. The men kept them talking about less sensitive things – for example, Fig asked about how they'd kept clean up there (because messy as they might've been, he would've expected a lot worse after ten months) and Pierce was cautiously curious about what other pet activities the alien culture had indulged in (such as whether or not they got taken for walks, were given toys, or had the equivalent of litter boxes) – for some time.

Sam didn't know when he finally dozed off; all he knew was that he woke briefly when another patrol shift happened, but wasn't coherent enough to remember any of it. What he was sure of, though, was that the last thing he consciously heard was a soft buzz from Bumblebee's engine, and the last thing he felt was Mikaela squeezing his hand when she heard Bee, too. They were like soothing whispers that their group had accomplished something and that it was going to be okay.

Despite the tension surrounding them, and excluding the patrol shift making Sam blearily toss in a half-awake daze, it was one of the calmest sleeps Sam and Mikaela had in a while.

* * *

**A.N.**

Good thing the unrepentant 'Cons stopped looking into Megatron. A little more digging in that area would almost certainly have revealed where the Cube was… -grin-

For really real – please try to sign in when reviewing. I like having discussions with people, I really do, and like to answer pertinent questions. Case in point: a wonderfully detailed editing note with hopes of future communication without a signed-in penname (luckily we got in touch anyway). I was utterly distraught there for a second when I thought, 'I would love to talk with this person about the suggestions he/she made (I'm an English major, after all, and heavily considered having a writing minor), but I might never find a way to contact him/her.' So, again – please. If you don't have to, please don't tempt me by dangling the possibility of having a stirring discussion with you, whether about grammar or about plot points. You make me ever so sad when you do. On that note, **Petshop** totally made my day by looking into actual editing, and not just typo corrections/modifications, and more than deserves the mention.

Finally, in closing news… by a strange twist of luck, **chaitea16** submitted the 666th review. I secretly decided to let whoever happened to submit that e_vil_ review pick a minor 'Con who would get to have a minor role/cameo later in the fic (nothing terribly special, but there you have it). As a result, I've been reacquainting myself with Wildrider – and therefore the Stunticons – and throwing around ideas about what he could be used for in his scene.

Reviews go a long way when it comes to keeping me smiling and content. Keep that in mind.


	23. Rocking Revelations

Title: Property Of

Rating: T (1 or 2 bad words – I swear, the soldiers will calm down)

Summary: During Cybertronian 'peace,' ex-Cons hide the sentience of and sell humans as pets to secure Earth. Sam and Mikaela might just be the first to grasp the reality of the situation alongside their new owner.

Chapter: Rocking Revelations

Heads up – the opening scene is not exactly in line, chronologically, with what's going on on Earth; it's a couple days in the future. I hope that's not too confusing for you. Also, keep an eye out for those typos, will ya? Nasty little things try and detract from the story…

* * *

"_**They had numerous questions and concerns, though it went well overall,**_" began Mirage.

The mech stood straight with his arms clasped loosely behind his back. Even though Prime had suggested he sit down several times, Mirage refused each offer. Optimus remained seated at his desk, already deep in contemplation as Mirage proceeded to retell the events of two cycles prior.

Miles – who Mirage, for additional security purposes, referred to solely as 'Prowl's friend' – had wanted to know a rough outline of the range of potential tasks he'd be given, no matter how many times Mirage insisted there was nothing yet solidified. The spy had had to make mostly baseless predictions in order to satisfy the human's curiosity, explaining that he could potentially be asked to do anything from being sneaked back into stores or other human holding facilities to interview fellow humans, to sneaking into private homes – likely homes of suspicious mechs, or mechs Prime hoped to learn could be swayed to his side if push came to shove – and locating owned humans, to sneaking in while bugged and recording intel, to simply discovering how certain mechs responded to humans. Mirage had repeatedly reminded that there was no telling what the occasion might call for.

Prowl, while interested in the same information, was also adamant to know what protective measures Prime had planned. Surely, the tactician had said, no human would be sent into dangerous situations without some means of protection or means to signal he or she was in trouble. Prowl had become quite irate when Mirage, once again, could offer very little to allay those worries. Apparently Perceptor was working on substances to safely enhance human regenerative abilities, to enhance senses, and a small number of other things, but nothing that – even if finished and perfected – appeared safe or helpful enough to quell any of Prowl's reservations.

"_**I would have been concerned if Prowl was won over so quickly, or allowed his friend to be, either,**_" said Prime with a nod. "_**Did his friend give a final answer, or did he at least hint at one?**_"

"_**I believe you have earned his compliance,**_" Mirage said. "_**He is respectably wary, but highly interested in being able to contribute. The both of them would like more details, and I assured them they would have the specifics whenever the occasion arose, although it took some time before they seemed to believe me about that.**_"

Humming in approval, Optimus nodded and replied, "_**Understandable. I wish it would not come to this, but I fear there may be little choice.**_" He'd barely stopped talking when there was a knock at his office door and a ping on his communication systems. "_**Thank you for contacting Prowl. Are you still prepared to visit Blaster and Perceptor?**_" he went on, hastening to finish politely. He returned the waiting comm message by telling the mech at his door that he would be admitted shortly.

"_**Of course. Would you like me to leave for Yuss and Kalis immediately?**_" questioned Mirage, also speaking faster.

"_**If you would prefer a short respite, it would be granted. If you are willing to travel to either city now, that is also fine,**_" Optimus told him.

Mirage blinked and straightened marginally. "_**Then I will leave at once. I should be back with Blaster's answer in a few cycles, Perceptor's shortly after.**_"

"_**It's greatly appreciated,**_" Prime graciously acknowledged while standing. He approached the door to show Mirage out and to let in the mech who had knocked. "_**Your help is invaluable – I cannot thank you enough.**_"

Whereas most of his former friends and soldiers would have embarrassedly taken or brushed aside the praise, Optimus was reminded once more of Mirage's noble heritage. The mech gracefully bowed his head and avoided optic contact after he looked back up – an engrained response that Optimus had nearly forgotten about. Mirage seemed to realize his lapse, however, and steadily met his superior's gaze. Instead of denying the thanks as he originally intended, he offered a polite, "_**I am glad to be of use in any attempt to prolong the peace**_," and allowed himself to be seen out.

The door opened, and both Mirage and Optimus stalled at the visibly perturbed yellow mech that waited in the hallway with folded arms and a small scowl on his face.

"_**Mirage**_," greeted Sunstreaker. His scowl mixed with intrigue, and his crossed arms never faltered.

"_**Sunstreaker,**_" the mech returned, scanning his former comrade. Then, remembering himself, "_**Good day, Prime – Sunstreaker.**_" He inclined his head, acknowledged the yellow mech for the second time, and departed.

Prime wordlessly stepped aside and gestured Sunstreaker into his office. The younger 'bot walked in and rooted himself firmly in the center of the room, arms still crossed. Anyone else, and Optimus would've requested the mech make himself comfortable, but he recognized that it would be futile; if Optimus was any other superior, he probably would've requested that Sunstreaker drop the apparent attitude, but, again, he knew it'd be futile, and moreover didn't mind the subtle show of insubordination.

"_**Didn't know you'd been in much contact with Mirage lately,**_" noted Sunstreaker with a question in his tone.

"_**Much more than we have been in the past, yes. I take it you have a report to give me?**_" Optimus dismissed and redirected, closing the door and walking around so he could face Sunstreaker. "_**You're back from your rounds much sooner than I would have expected.**_"

For a moment it looked like Sunstreaker might press the issue about Mirage. He didn't. "_**That's because I didn't complete them. I only got as far as Stanix,**_" the yellow twin said plainly, without a hint of remorse or guilt.

Frowning, Optimus responded, "_**Then something important must have happened to make you come immediately back. What's the problem in Stanix?**_"

"_**It's that glitching 'Con. **_**Again**_**.**_"

"…_**Wildrider?**_" ventured Prime, already with the knowing sigh of someone who'd had a conversation multiple times.

"_**Everyone there says he's acting up. I told you his half-shorted processor should've been locked up forever from the second we got him – him **_**and**_** the rest of his fragged-up friends that we managed to track down,**_" Sunstreaker groused, scowl still going strong.

Optimus gave the mech a look. "_**They've been largely cooperative,**_" he reminded, gentle yet with a hint of forcefulness. "_**Motormaster is the only one to have shown repeated hostility, and he's now where he should be.**_" The ex-Decepticon had exhausted every chance allotted him, and was now semi-permanently detained. To be fair to Sunstreaker, Prime admitted about the rest, "_**Many still have their issues, but they are not so grievous as to require they be locked up unnecessarily. They may be unhappy, but they aren't any immediate danger.**_"

"_**Is that so?**_" was Sunstreaker's rejoinder, accentuated by a cockily incredulous expression. "_**We both know that's a lie. I'm not a 'bot for politics, but I know political correctness when I see it. If they weren't **_**some**_** sort of threat, you wouldn't have made it illegal for more than one member of any Decepticon gestalt to live in the same city.**_" He wouldn't admit it, but Sunstreaker was impressed by Prime's decision about that. It had, supposedly, been one of the more daring moves Optimus had made in terms of cross-faction peace agreements. Still, "_**Some team players don't need their team to be menaces.**_"

"_**Speaking from experience?**_" Optimus asked with a small smile.

The yellow twin stared at him, and his optics narrowed a fraction. "_**If that was a joke, I hope you're not planning on giving up Primacy and becoming a comedian any time soon.**_"

Although Prime understood that this was not a laughing matter, he decided to defend his comment before moving on. "_**You could afford to lighten up some; we are not at war.**_" And he hoped he could somehow, with the grace of Primus, keep it that way…

Choosing largely to ignore the remark, Sunstreaker shifted his weight and said, "_**Try telling that to someone like Wildrider and the rest of his Stunticon buddies. I don't care how cooperative he has or hasn't been in the past, that glitch has got some serious problems. He's making the whole city nervous, and I was buried with complaints about him the moment I set foot in Stanix.**_"

"_**What kind of complaints?**_" relented Prime with another tired, exhaling vent.

"_**He's crazy. If I'm not allowed to beat some sense into him (or beat him to death and be done with it), then he needs to be institutionalized, I'm telling you,**_" Sunstreaker insisted, scowl briefly being replaced by a somewhat pleading look.

With a disapproving frown, Optimus pressed, "_**Has he done anything criminal?**_"

"_**Not explicitly, as far as I could tell,**_" Sunstreaker was forced to concede. "_**I wouldn't be surprised to learn he has, though. A lot of the complaints are about him getting more and more abrasive, about the glitch-head talking to himself in public, having fits and muttering about rallying an army and slag like that.**_" The scowl was back. "_**If it were anyone else – anyone less crazy and taken more seriously – then he'd be arrested for war-mongering.**_"

When Optimus tiredly rubbed a hand over his face, Sunstreaker said, "_**Could you, for once, trust someone's instinct here and stop pandering to the Decepticons? Ex,**_" he tacked on immediately when Prime lifted his head and appeared ready to scold him. "_**More mechs will be happy if he's locked away than there are mechs who it would incite. If I recall correctly, he wasn't exactly popular amongst his own faction. It's not like if you do this one thing – this one thing that pretty much everyone wants you to do, by the way – everyone's suddenly gonna charge up their plasma cannons, grab their energon blades, and take to the streets. Last I checked, we weren't in that precarious of a situation.**_"

Optimus studied the younger mech for a long, quiet moment. "_**This situation is more precarious than you can possibly imagine.**_"

The yellow twin's expression was hard and serious, including the usual glower. "_**Oh, so now we're gonna talk in vague riddles that you have no intention of giving the answers to, is that it?**_" he acknowledged, and tightened his arms where they crossed in front of his chest.

The pair of ex-Autobots stared at each other wordlessly.

Finally Sunstreaker sighed, and he dropped his arms to his side. "_**Fine, I don't need to know – I should be used to you talking like that, you pulled the same slag when you split up Sides' and me. But I'm not joking about Wildrider. Will you **_**please**_** just look into it? Spend any time with the mech, and I'm sure you'll finally be on the same datapad screen as the rest of us. And it's not for me – it's for all the poor slaggers in Stanix who practically begged me to drag the glitch away. Which,**_" he said with a certain emphasis in his voice meant to stress how hard a task it had been for him, "_**I managed to restrain myself from doing.**_"

Sunstreaker was at least making some progress, Prime noted. He scanned the mech again in a slow once-over. Prime didn't doubt that Sunstreaker had restrained himself professionally, which was exactly what the ex-commander had hoped to be able to instill in the warrior after the calm was announced. Loathe as he knew Sunstreaker would ever be to admit it, the mech was making headway in learning to be more respectful and professional and capable of properly restraining himself (although he would likely never show the proper level of respect for any of his former Autobot officers, including Optimus himself, which Optimus was fairly certain he never wanted to see anyway because surely that would mean the universe had come to an end).

"_**I apologize for the vagueness, but I assure you, it's what's best for now,**_" Prime told him. Giving in to the urge to run his hand across his face again, he also said, "_**And I will go and visit Wildrider, and I promise I will judge the situation objectively. If it's as serious as you and the complaints claim, then I will act accordingly.**_"

It would've been impossible for anyone to tell, but Sunstreaker was rather surprised that Optimus had given in. He offered a put out, "_**Thank-you,**_" and released the air that had been steaming in his systems.

Optimus nodded absently and said, "_**So you will continue your planetary rounds as originally scheduled, then, bringing anything as serious as this to my attention immediately, as you've done?**_"

"_**Uh huh. Sure thing,**_" Sunstreaker answered with a single lifting of his chin in confirmation.

"_**Very well. You can relax in the city a joor before leaving again, if you'd like,**_" offered Prime.

The offer was waved off, though. "_**I'm not gonna waste a whole joor boring myself; I only came back to make sure you knew about this first thing. I might spend another breem or two to grab some energon, but that's it. I'll be back with more information on warmongering 'bots before you know it,**_" Sunstreaker assured him.

Since that seemed like the end of that, the yellow twin turned for the door. He was already half way out of it before Prime called out,

"_**Sunstreaker.**_"

The mech turned halfway. "_**Yes, sir?**_" he responded instinctually, apparently forgetting his disdain for authority in his surprise that Optimus had something else to say.

There was a brief hesitation before Prime said, "_**Thank you for bringing this to my attention, and for your insistence.**_"

Sunstreaker was less able to hide his surprise this time. He stared at his superior for a second, and then remembered himself. "_**It's nothing. I wouldn't be doing my job otherwise.**_"

In hopes of avoiding any more praise or equally sentimental slag that he had not signed up for when he came to report on Stanix, Sunstreaker left.

Prime stared somberly after him.

* * *

His leg was shaking a mile a minute, as though he really needed to find a bathroom. His eyes were glued on one person even though he kept shifting his head in the support of one of his hands. Even with Mikaela trying to calm him by lacing her fingers through the free hand he had splayed on the table, Sam couldn't find it in himself to relax.

There may not have been any logic behind it, but Sam was convinced that any second now the soldier from the morning patrol that was fondling – _fondling!_ – Bumblebee was going to figure out that the car he was admiring was in fact a mech.

It was about nine in the morning, and time for another patrol switch and another wave of questions. Epps was long gone by now, and Donnelly was in charge, watching over Togg, Reece, and Mulderrig. The captain himself had been by for a short while before the teens woke up, though he had left again, and was supposed to be back soon. The teens assumed that somewhere along the line someone had intercepted the latest group of guys to come through the warehouse, because they didn't have nearly as many questions as Graham's group had.

Regardless, they liked the Camaro, and it was starting to unnerve Sam. Had Bee been a lifeless object, Sam still would've been a little freaked out by the way this blonde guy was running his hands over the mech's sleek lines and calling back to Sam and Mikaela about how much he liked their ride. Since Bumblebee was, however, very much alive, it was doubly – no, triply – creepy. It screamed 'bad news.' The fact that Donnelly and his men looked like they were waiting for Bumblebee to get fed up with the touching and pull out the big guns didn't help settle any of Sam's nerves, either.

As the guy's fellow patrolmen began to file out to start their shift, he abandoned the car and approached Sam and Mikaela. "You know," he began pleasantly, "I used to have a Camaro myself. It was like a forest green, though – not flashy like this. And an older model – a '76."

"Really?" Sam said, surprised. His legs instantly stopped moving. "Mine was a '76."

The guy raised an eyebrow. "That thing was never a '76 at any time, I guarantee it."

Right as a confusedly open-mouthed Sam was about to ask the man how he could possibly know what model someone else's car had been, Mikaela jumped in, "He doesn't mean that one. He's talking about the one he owned before this."

Oh. "Oh!" Sam began twitching again. "Yeah, I meant – yeah, totally not this one. I mean, of course not this one. The one I had before it. Red, racing stripes, old… not this one. Yep."

"I get it," the guy laughed. "No need to be so jumpy. But yeah – all I wanted to say was, nice wheels."

To everyone's relief, he followed his friends out, and the warehouse was left to the mechs, teens, and original patrolmen once more. Once it was clear, Sam dropped his head against the table and began muttering to himself about what an idiot he was.

"Nice save, spazzy," Togg called out.

Sam only acknowledged him by waving a hand – he nearly gave the man the finger – and continuing to mutter things into the table.

"He was nice, wasn't he?" Bee chirruped happily.

That got Sam's attention. Brows furrowed, the teen lifted his head slightly (still resting his chin on the table). "You _liked_ getting fondled?"

"Fondled?" repeated Bee. A couple men snickered.

"He didn't see it as fondlin', kid. Guy woulda had t' try a lot harder – and get way more personal – before he'd a' been doin' any fondlin' on an alt mode," Jazz supplied not a second later. "He saw it as bein' fawned over. And Bee loves bein' fawned over, don't ya, Bee." The yellow mech's engine gave a short stutter, somewhat like a huff. "Don't matter what species, huh?" Then, after a pause, "Hey, a compliment's a compliment, alt mode or not."

"You coulda afforded not to have such showy disguises, though. You realize that, right?" Donnelley pointed out.

"Man, where's the fun in that? A 'bot's gotta have self-respect," quipped Jazz. "I coulda been a scrap heap if I'd had t' be, but why waste my natural good looks an' style on a crappy alt if a shiny one'll do just fine?"

Mulderrig elbowed Reece in the side, grinning with the air of an inside joke, and the second patrolmen shook it off. Togg nodded at the pair, and Donnelly could only stare at the mech.

Another silence, this one much more amiable, claimed the warehouse. However, amiable or not, that didn't stop everyone from jumping when one of the doors slammed open and a rather enthusiastic Epps announced, "Breakfast is served!"

Sam and Mikaela shifted straighter in their seats and stared as Epps walked in carrying one plate, Lennox a second, with Fig walking behind them holding a pitcher. The combination of whatever the three men were carrying had the couple scenting the air and their mouths preemptively watering. It smelled amazing…

Fig put the pitcher on the table – it was now clear that it was apple juice – and went to grab a couple glasses while Epps gave his plate to Mikaela and Lennox gave his to Sam.

Scrambled eggs, fluffy and yellow and sprinkled in orange-brown specks (some type of spice?). Toast, light brown and not burnt in a single spot, with a wonderful smattering of melted butter. Sausage, soft and plump, with faint trails of steam coming off.

Gaping, Sam glanced back and forth between the three men, who all watched him and Mikaela expectantly.

The teens didn't need to be urged twice. They picked up the silverware that either Lennox or Epps had given them and began to dig in to the marvelous plates.

No one spoke. Had either teen been any less interested in their food – chewing deliberately, relishing in the varied flavors and long-missed textures – they might have been offended by the way the soldiers were staring at them like they were a side show. Only when Sam and Mikaela turned their attention – simultaneously – to the sausage on their plates did someone say anything.

"Is that… meat?" Bumblebee tentatively inquired.

"You bet it is!" breathed Sam, biting down into the perfectly browned sausage, sighing happily. Mikaela's face was even more euphoric than his and she chewed especially slowly, savoring every juicy morsel.

The mech was quiet. After he witnessed his charges take another couple bites, he stated dumbly, "That's an animal."

"Mm-mm," Sam shook his head as he swallowed. "It _was_ an animal. Now it's a small tube of deliciousness."

Bumblebee whirred faintly. "You… hunted that – and the eggs? So you could eat them?" he asked the men in general.

The patrolmen blinked. "What?"

"Wait a second," Mikaela said, quickly taking a sip of apple juice to wash down the last of her sausage link. "You… you didn't know we ate meat?"

Bee's wipers gave a hesitant swipe. "No. Nothing I ever read said that humans were omnivorous. It didn't seem likely you would be predators, either, so I assumed the proteins in your diet came from somewhere else." He gave an awkward rumbling. "I don't care if you hunt other animals or eat their eggs or not, it's merely… not what I expected."

It was pretty obvious to Sam and Mikaela that he definitely was a tad unsettled by the discovery and didn't want to say anything.

"We didn't go out in the bush and hunt down breakfast," Epps spoke up suddenly. He'd been too entranced with the exchange to say anything before then. "That stuff used to come from stores, and before the stores it came from farms where people raised the pigs and things in order to get those sausages you see right there. We're not running around in the trees with spears and arrows like savages or whatever."

Honestly, as Bumblebee tried to picture a place that purposefully raised animals for the sole purpose of killing and eating them, he wasn't sure which was more savage, and certainly wasn't sure which he would've preferred. He settled on a noncommittal "oh" and left it at that. He was at least thankful that they were omnivorous and not carnivorous, or – Primus forbid – metalivorous.

"Why'd you bring us a full breakfast? Isn't some of this stuff hard to come by now?" Mikaela asked once she'd gotten a couple more spoonfuls of egg into her mouth.

"It was Will's idea," Epps said, nodding at his friend. The teenagers, who hadn't expected the breakfast to have been courtesy of Lennox of all people, turned widened eyes to the man. "He knew you hadn't had a real meal in a while, and after shooting at you and the day you'd had, he thought breakfast was the least he could do."

"Uh… thanks," Sam managed stupidly.

Lennox shrugged. "You're already going to have a hard enough time as it is staying under lock and key until this is sorted out… and questionable alien friends or not, you're kids at the end of the day," he said, finding it difficult to meet their eyes. Without pause, he nodded at Mulderrig and Donnelly to relieve them of duty. The pair stuck around for a couple minutes more until finally clearing out.

Mikaela and Sam ate until no more than a few crumbs and smidgens of oil or egg runoff remained, and the men were happy to let them do so without further interruption.

The first to finish, Mikaela licked her lips clean and wiped her face with a napkin that Fig had provided when he'd given them their glasses. She closed her eyes and gave a satiated sigh, then shook her head at her own overzealous reaction to a breakfast that, not even a year ago, she would've blissfully taken for granted. Sam continued to toy with his fork for a few seconds, reminding Mikaela of a dog that continued to lick a plate of scraps even after the food was all gone, as though it was expecting more to spontaneously generate.

"Thank you so much," she said. "You have no idea how much we were looking forward to a meal like that." Next to her, Sam nodded mutely.

"Least we could do," Epps repeated.

"Um, Captain Lennox, sir?" Bumblebee's voice came gently, almost childlike. Momentarily thrown by the use of title and deference, Lennox turned to the scout with suspicion. "I was wondering, how many different groups of you are there? And, more importantly, do you plan on letting them know about… well… about me and Jazz?"

Lennox regarded the motionless sports car for a moment. He blinked at Epps, who gave an impartial shrug. "There's one more shift between this one and our next patrol; regularly there's a cycle of five, but sometimes we substitute a sixth shift from another station. We have the late night patrol tonight," he answered slowly, measuring. "And I haven't decided what to tell the others. The patrol heads, maybe – Graham, Howard, Chun, Jordan. We'll see about everyone else." Openly suspicious now instead of guardedly so, "Why?"

Bumblebee warbled in a way that somehow sounded remarkably like a shrug.

Jazz answered instead, "I don't know about Bee over here, but I'd love to know I could stand up and not worry about someone walkin' in and levelin' a gun at my face."

Lennox supposed that made enough sense on its own, no nefarious explanation needed.

"You'll get to stand up and move again later tonight," he advised. "We want you to look at a perimeter scanner and see if you can do anything with it, like you said you could."

"So we get to go on another outing?" Sam eagerly sought the details.

To Sam's disappointment, the captain shook his head. "Them, not 'we.' They do. Epps and the guys are taking them out. You're staying here with me so I can ask you a few questions of my own and have a little talk."

That didn't seem fair. Sam was about to say as much when Mikaela grabbed his arm.

"Can we ask you some questions, then, too?" she asked, jumping at the unexpected opportunity. Even though Epps gave her a discreet warning look, it failed to dampen Mikaela's hope. "We have questions for you, too."

"…You can ask whatever you want," he agreed lowly, "as long as you don't expect an answer to questions I don't think you should be asking."

"Fair enough," said Mikaela.

With that agreement reached, they went back about their business. Epps found a deck of cards and rallied Fig, Togg, and Reece into a few rounds of poker interspersed with other games, some of which Sam and Mikaela had never heard of before. Before the men began playing, however, Epps gave the teens a deck at their request, and the couple set up in front of the mechs to play much more low-scale games, like war and go-fish.

Almost heedless to the others, Lennox stationed himself on a supply crate and alternately asked the mechs technical questions and lapsed into heavy and contemplative silences. Occasionally one of the other soldiers or Sam or Mikaela would say something, but for the most part, they left Lennox alone and idly followed the conversation while they waited for night to come.

* * *

Ever since the youngling found out they now spoke her language, she'd demanded to be kept right next to Ironhide at all times – as though she thought he'd stop carrying her around after they were able to speak with one another. Ironhide had no problem with this whatsoever. When she began asking to be placed in higher and higher locations, however, he started to take issue.

Right now, little feet were dangling over the edge of the fourth shelf of Ironhide's tool rack (a short height from his perspective, yet significant for a human). Ironhide was tweaking his firearms – which he'd begun to pay all the more attention to recently – while checking on Annabelle's stability roughly every four seconds. No matter how frequently he glanced her way, her little face lit up practically every time, in complete contrast to his fretting.

"Hey, 'Hide?" she spoke up innocently, kicking her legs a bit.

"Yes?" he immediately answered her. For once in his life, he was happy to turn his attention away from his cannons and focus on the girl. Ironhide noticed that Ratchet also stopped what he was doing and regarded the pair over his shoulder.

Annabelle stared at the offline cannon he'd been working on. "You said you liked fighting, right?"

In a manner of speaking, Ironhide thought with dimming optics. He'd tried to explain what it was he used to do, yet the only thing she seemed to have taken away from all of it was that there'd been a war that he'd fought in, he liked weapons, and still had cannons (she called them guns, and Ironhide had reluctantly allowed her to incorrectly refer to the cannons as such)… which, apparently, had boiled down into her believing he liked to fight. She wasn't exactly wrong, but she also wasn't exactly correct.

"To an extent," Ironhide confirmed. He twisted around to glare at Ratchet when the medic's gears ground in quiet laughter. "Why?" he turned back to Annabelle.

She rubbed her hands together and shrugged. "Are you gonna fight with my daddy?"

"Hmm?" Ratchet hummed and turned entirely around.

Ironhide, confused, pulled his head back. Why would she…? "I'd rather not," he warily answered. He couldn't figure out where she would have gotten the idea that he wanted to pick a fight with her father, assuming they ever even found the male. "I don't wish any of your kind harm, least of all your relatives."

Annabelle stared with her mouth slightly agape. "Why would fighting with him hurt him?"

Neither Ironhide nor Ratchet answered right away. They were too confused to be able to. Ironhide shot the medic a questioning look before hesitantly responding, "If it ever came to fighting with a human, I do not think my opponent would fair very well." When Annabelle's face began to scrunch unpleasantly at the word 'opponent,' Ironhide blinked and tilted his head to the side in consideration. "Youngling, do you mean will I fight with your father as a _comrade_?" Behind him, Ratchet whirred with sudden understanding.

The girl was slow to reply. After she caught up with the mech, she nodded. "Yes! Daddy fights with people, and I was thinking, are you gonna fight with him, too, 'cause you like fighting?"

Again, Ironhide wasn't sure how to answer. He looked to Ratchet for help, but the medic simply shrugged. So, once more, Ironhide began to answer at a slow pace, "I doubt your father would want anything to do with me."

"Why not?" demanded Annabelle. She blinked challengingly at him.

After they had discussed her father with her, and after Annabelle revealed that she thought Ironhide had tried to step in as a surrogate father, the girl had been unconsciously enthralled by the idea of bringing her two 'fathers' together. She never seemed to pick up on the hesitancy with which Ironhide and Ratchet always approached the topic of finding her dad. Even if she had, she wouldn't have understood why.

"You said your father was a successful defender of your kind who doesn't like mechs," Ratchet said, saving his friend the explanation. "Ironhide, clearly, is a mech," he waved a hand at the black ex-Autobot in demonstration. "Chances are that your father would not want to meet him, let alone fight alongside him." He determinedly steered clear of bringing up parental separation as a factor, recognizing that the girl would likely have difficulty grasping the emotionally complex concept.

"Oh. But… but Hide's nice! You're both nice," she said, at first with a frown, but then with a smile. "Daddy won't fight you – he fights the _bad_ robots, and you're good robots. So… that means you'll be okay."

"If only human relations would be that easy," mused Ratchet. "Bumblebee would probably have a sea of admirers by now if that were the case."

"You're still gonna help 'em, right?" she asked, voice suddenly small as she started to question herself.

Ironhide grunted. "We'll help where we can, 'Spark," he assured her.

"What's a spark?" asked Annabelle, former topic momentarily forgotten.

Well, apart from being the most important part of what made a mech a mech… "It's a nickname I have for you," said Ironhide. That was a functional half-truth, at least.

"Like when I call you 'Hide?"

"Yeah," he agreed. He could almost feel Ratchet shaking his head.

Annabelle smiled. "Okay. Though I don't know how you came up with it…" she pondered aloud, trying to figure out where he got 'Spark' from 'Annabelle.' As quickly as she'd abandoned the previous topic, she made to return to it. "Daddy called me Annie a lot. Mommy liked to call me Belle. I wonder if they'd like Spark?"

"Doubtful," Ratchet muttered from across the room, too quiet and muffled for Annabelle to hear.

Sensing that the conversation was over – as Annabelle had switched to a one-sided dialogue, it seemed – Ironhide went back to readjusting his left primary cannon with frequent checks on the babbling human.

"… 'Hide?"

The black mech looked up slowly. "Yes?"

"When do I get to see Sam and 'Kaela again?"

Her inquiry was gentle and unassuming, with the slightest hint of sadness. Ironhide sighed. Annabelle had made it abundantly clear that she loved Bumblebee's human charges, and Prowl's as well, for that matter, which led Ratchet to explain to the weapons specialist that she was probably desperate to maintain human contact. Frustratingly, she had trouble remembering exactly what it was that first Prime and then Ratchet and Ironhide themselves repeatedly said about the teenagers leaving. She seemed to know that they and Bumblebee had gone somewhere for a while, but gave little indication that she knew they had gone to Earth, and were thus many light years separated from her.

"Not for a while."

"Why?"

Oh, Primus save him from younglings and their 'why's. "Because they are on your planet right now, attempting to… make things better," he tried to simplify for her."

"What about Miles?" she tried instead, as Ironhide predicted she would.

"It may be more difficult to bring you two together again," Ironhide answered her honestly. At the frown that immediately began to form, he mediated, "But we can talk with Prowl."

/ _**It'd be good for her. We should at least try to foster what relationships she does have with humans, no matter what Prime says, **_/ Ratchet commed his approval without looking at them. Then he began to muse, / _**I wonder if Wheeljack would change his mind and take one or two in from the stores… And I suppose we could look into bringing another home, if it came to that.**_ /

"We'll do what we can to bring him by," promised Ironhide gruffly, nodding once at Ratchet's approval and sending him a communiqué of confirmation.

"Okay," said Annabelle, fiddling once more with her hands.

Ironhide mutely watched as his charge returned to mumbling to herself, playing with her hands, and playing with her toy balls that sat on either side of her. He had never been good with emotions, although he was prone to them. Chromia had told him on multiple occasions that she found that endearing about him; he tended to think it was annoying more often than not. The guilt he felt for whatever the youngling was going though and the urgency with which he wanted to make everything better for her were not things he could solve by firing a plasma blast or two.

Unfortunately, he had to resign himself to the fact that he couldn't help her right now.

He hoped that Bumblebee and his humans were having at least some luck on Earth, because he wanted nothing more than to hear a bit of good news right then.

* * *

By the time Lennox's patrol was suited up, armed, and ready to take over from one Lieutenant Chun, it was dark outside. A couple men went ahead to start the patrol while the rest hung back, waiting to be sure that the coast was clear before raising a door and letting the mechs roll out of the building.

"It may be easier to walk at night, not drive," Epps pointed out when he saw the way Lennox gave the two vehicles and the dark forest a calculating look. "It'll be my responsibility anyway with you hanging back here, and I'd rather get it over with."

While they quickly hammered out logistics, Lennox waved Sam and Mikaela towards two of the three chairs that the men had set up near one of the lights on the side of the warehouse. They walked exceedingly slowly towards the chairs since they preferred to watch another couple transformations once Lennox gave his (begrudging) permission.

Epps eyed a flashlight sticking out from one of his pockets. "Do those headlights of yours still…?" He cut his question short when high-beam strength light flashed on from the mechs' chests, where headlight components were still visible. Epps raised a hand to shield his eyes from the quadruple spotlights now on him, and Jazz and Bumblebee dialed down the brightness.

"Sorry about that," apologized Bee.

"Whatever. Keep those on the path and not in my eyes, and we won't have any problems," he both dismissed the concern and warned them ahead of time. "Will – you're sure you're cool?"

Lennox, who continued to watch the mechs as he spoke, answered, "It's two teenagers; I can hold my own. It's you who has to stay on your feet."

Barely noticeable, Epps laughed. Bee and Jazz were mightily interested in the handshake the two men shared then. When they unclasped their hands, Lennox simply advised his men to stay alert, and then he released them into Epps command.

The tech sergeant quickly got on task. "Move out, then – Donnelly and Togg, take lead, Reece, you keep even with these two, Murphy and Pierce, keep in back with me. As long as we keep our feet moving, we should rendezvous with the others in about twenty-five minutes…"

As they left, Bumblebee looked over his shoulder at Sam and Mikaela – who were finally lowering into their chairs – and waved sadly at them. He marginally brightened when they waved back.

Lennox watched the men go and eventually took his seat, too, although he didn't speak until well after the last sounds and sign of mechs and humans walking through the woods under the aliens' headlights disappeared into the night. Surprisingly, it wasn't long after the patrol party disappeared that the local insect life started acting up again, providing nighttime ambience that Mikaela hadn't even realized she missed; it didn't matter that her normal nighttime ambience consisted of squealing cars, neighbors partying, creaking doors, and things far less pleasant than crickets and rustling leaves.

Twiddling his thumbs in mounting nervousness, Sam glanced this way and that. "Are there a lot of mosquitos here?" he ventured, equal parts seriously concerned and joking.

"You two are completely serious about everything you've said so far about this whole mess?" Lennox asked abruptly, ignoring Sam's question without a second thought.

"Uh…?" said Sam.

"We've been honest from the start, sir," Mikaela said, leaning forward in her chair. "We're not going to change our story because Bee's not hovering over us. I know you're not going to trust us any more just because we say it another time, but Sam and I aren't lying. Bumblebee's not lying. Jazz isn't lying."

"What happened to us shouldn't happen to anyone," agreed Sam with an unintentional head shake. "It's a stupid situation – we said the same thing when we found out what was going on – but it's the truth. I know Bee isn't going to push you guys to believe him, and I'm pretty sure Jazz won't either, but you should really try and work with them. They're willing to concede a lot." He bit his lip and then said, "I know Bee hasn't been in the safe point's systems yet, no matter what Jazz has access to – that's why he keeps asking questions that he'd be able to find the answers to otherwise. I think they're trying to respect your wish for them to stay out until you give them permission."

Somewhere, an owl hooted.

"You know why I can't simply let them waltz in here and then trust them with access to the system, to the patrols, to the safe point itself…" Lennox stopped himself and rubbed his forehead, muttering under his breath that he realized that he probably wouldn't be able to prevent them from doing anything they wanted to at this point, and likely never would have stood a chance after the moment he and his men brought Jazz in past the perimeter. "Even if I wanted to trust them," and damn, a part of him really _did_ want to trust them – really did want to believe there was a shred of hope left somewhere, "I can't do it like that. They've destroyed our entire civilization. That's not something you forgive overnight."

"But it wasn't these guys that did that," Mikaela insisted. It'd be easy to get frustrated, she thought, yet knew that she couldn't, and not only because she knew it'd hurt their case. She didn't blame the captain. "You can't blame all of them for what a few of them did."

Sam fidgeted. "I don't know about Jazz, but I'm pretty sure Bumblebee doesn't want you to forgive him anyway. All he ever did was make things better for us than they probably would've been, and he still blames himself for everything that happened."

"Pierce said you pinged on a metal scanner he waved over you two last night. What's with that?" Lennox went on, choosing not to debate the points they'd made yet. For a split second, the teens thought he'd moved on to something unrelated to trust, and then he said, "You don't have any bugs placed in you or alien mind-control devices, hm?"

That gave Sam and Mikaela pause.

At length, Sam rubbed his neck sheepishly and answered, "I, uh, I think those were our microchips. We pinged on our backs, right? Between our shoulders?"

"Around there," Lennox concurred. "Microchips? Like…?"

"Yeah, like what we put in dogs so that the pound knows who they belong to if they get lost," Sam nodded, still rubbing his neck. It was hard to see in the low light, but his face had reddened.

The captain raised an eyebrow. "Is that common among mechs?"

Sam shrugged while Mikaela answered, "Pretty standard, yeah. Bee said its that or a bracelet to prove ownership. He said some friends of his programmed a homing device in ours, which actually helped them find us this one time when Bee got attacked, and… it's a long story. He asked us if we wanted them out – he seemed like he wanted them gone – but he wound up being convinced that it might be a good thing to keep them, at least for now. That way if we get separated he can still find us."

"What a responsible owner," said Lennox, his sarcasm not quite as heavy as the teens would have expected.

Mikaela and Sam watched the man as he took a moment to stare blankly up at the sky. Several times, Mikaela debated asking her own pressing question, but the moment didn't seem right. Lennox looked back down at them after about a minute. "There's pretty much one unifying mission objective for human defense teams the world over: Protect by any means necessary. These friends of yours put me in a really tough position, do you realize that?"

Sensing it was a rhetorical question, neither teen answered.

"On the one hand, if by some miracle you're actually telling the truth and those two only want to help out – if there's actually a whole segment of their population that wouldn't like what was going on if they knew about it – then I can't send the lot of you packing like my training's yelling at me to do. By all accounts, you shouldn't even be here. My men and I should've been armed with sabots when we ran into you, and your yellow friend would've been in a lot worse shape," he explained.

"And if I'm making the wrong choice and you're lying, and I'm letting hostiles deeper into human territory and letting them manipulate me and my men," Lennox went on, tone darkening, "then, assuming I wasn't dead by the time I found out, I'd have no choice but to try and take you all down to protect the people I'm supposed to be protecting… who I would've betrayed because I let myself be deceived. Not just by mechs, who I'd expect it from, but by kids."

Sam, though he wasn't sure what he wanted to say, knew he had to say something. "Lennox – Captain – sir… we'd rather die. We have family at stake here, not that we know where they are or if they're even alive right now, because we haven't seen them in months, and God only knows if they ever actually made it to that safe point, or if they got caught or killed or who knows," he rambled. "Epps told us you had a wife," Sam revealed, and he was so taken up in what he was trying to say that he didn't hear Lennox mutter a dark 'really' at the news, "and I know it's not the same, but we don't want our parents and family hurt any more than you want your wife hurt."

"I think what Sam's trying to say," Mikaela hastily said, because unlike Sam, she noticed Lennox's changing attitude as his wife was brought into the discussion, "is that we have a lot to lose by lying to you. We don't have any proof to back it up, so I know you technically have no reason to trust us about it, but we have more to lose than we have to gain by betraying you for the sake of a couple of mechs."

There was another moment of silence, discounting the crickets and occasional owl.

Lennox ran both hands through his hair and released a long and loaded sigh, as if he were trying his hardest to breathe out all the tension that had been building in him.

"I want to trust you," he told them, clasping his hands and staring at the ground as he said it. "But… I don't know if I can. So much has happened, between what I know firsthand and the stories we've gotten – the stories I mentioned the other day, where other settlements have been wiped out because they fell for people who said they'd found mech turn-coats who weren't threats – that I don't know whether or not I should.

"I'm not delusional, though," he said, mostly to himself. "If one of them decides they want to open fire on us, he'd win. My men and I, we've taken down mechs that aren't… they weren't exactly mechs, they were more like drones. They weren't as smart, weren't as smooth, and didn't carry as much fire power. We've taken down those, but I don't know for certain whether or not we could efficiently take down a real mech. It doesn't mean we wouldn't die trying, but I'm not delusional. That inequality of power makes it pretty hard to trust someone, even without all the other factors stacked against them."

_And besides_, he very nearly added, _I'm one of the worst guys you could've wound up with if you were hoping to get a human ally after what those bastards did._

Although he didn't want to back down from the issue, in a rare moment of insight, Sam relented, "No one's asking you to trust them blindly. They'll wait for you – we'll all wait for you. Whatever it takes to prove it, we'll do it. Just, please don't count us out already."

When Lennox waved a hand in muted desperation at his circumstances, Mikaela seized her chance.

"Sir, you mentioned first hand experiences?" she started.

The captain leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and regarded her stiffly. "Yes, I did."

"Does that mean – and please, stop me if I'm wrong – that you have something…" Mikaela didn't like the simplicity of the word she had to use, "… something personal against them?"

Lennox caught her eyes and they stared at one another, but he didn't answer. It prompted Sam to needlessly clarify, "More personal than hating them for destroying your house or something."

"Personal?" the man repeated, humorlessly, although a corner of his mouth twitched. Whether it was a failed smile or failed frown, no one knew, though the latter certainly seemed more likely. "Yeah," he said after a second. "Yeah, you could say that."

Not having expected even that much of an admission so soon, Mikaela pushed her luck. "Did they hurt or… or catch someone you knew? A kid?"

What she and Sam expected even less was the flash of anger that raced over Lennox's face at the mention, the clenching of a fist, the tightening of his jaw. It made Mikaela hasten to explain, "Epps dropped a hint or two, that's all. We just want to know, we don't want to make things any more awkward than they are."

"This is the type of question you said you wanted to ask me?" Lennox recalled her request from earlier in the day with a slight grimace. Then he said again, this time very tightly, "Yeah. They did."

Sam and Mikaela glanced at one another.

"Who? What… happened?" Sam pressed, trying to keep his voice devoid of all inflection save for empathy. He was still worried they might be being too forceful. "You don't have to say if you don't want to, though. We'd understand if you don't want to talk about it."

Lennox looked at each teenager in turn, and then laughed once, dark and muffled. As if he needed their permission to not answer them! He'd already told the kids that he wouldn't answer questions he didn't like, and even if he hadn't given them forewarning, they couldn't make him speak even if they tried.

But this was different. Neither the boy nor the girl looked curious for any reason other than genuine concern. There was no malicious spark of intent, no perverse curiosity. Only concern – a desire to understand where he was coming from. They were only kids, after all, and there was no conceivable way that they knew how much his heart was clenching… how every memory of how perfect his family had been before the fallout began to assault him before disintegrating into the knowledge that his wife was depressed, that most of the positive attributes he'd used to have had taken a back seat to his bitterness…

"They took my daughter," he managed to get out.

Unlike the silences of before, this one fell harshly and suddenly.

Sam moved his mouth as though to speak, and never managed a sound. He looked at the bent over captain and wondered how he hadn't pieced that together from Epps's reaction the previous night.

"They took your daughter?" Mikaela covered her mouth with her hand even as she whispered her disbelief. With a hardened look in his eyes, Lennox straightened, rested his back into the chair, and finally nodded. Mikaela lowered her hand a fraction and shook her head in disbelief and empathy. It was too terrible to consider… and it more than explained the man's behavior, Epps's warning – everything. "How? When?"

Lennox stared off at the sky for a moment. It had been so much darker ever since the mechs had come, between the loss of big cities, the wariness humans had at giving away their positions at night with excessive lights, and even the _feel_ of the planet now. The only plus side was that the stars were brighter than ever before, and this place was no exception. He wasn't an astronomer by any means and had no idea which planets were visible at that time of year, but Lennox absently wondered if one of the brighter specks wasn't Mars, or another planet, or wherever his daughter might be in some robot settlement, being forced to act as a pet for a soulless metal monster.

"It'll be a year and two months next week since Annie was taken. We," Lennox paused to collect himself and make sure he wanted to tell this story, "we were switching camps, the three of us, from a place called High Point to here. I was assigned to help move the first wave of people, so I went ahead of them. Sarah was asked to organize and pack up supplies for one of the later trips, and of course she was happy to help… Sarah was always happy to help when it was needed.

"There was a girl – not really a girl," he berated himself, "she was eighteen or nineteen, somewhere around your age – who'd watched Annie for us since Annie was a baby. So when Sarah went to go help out, she left them together. She had no reason to think that it was a bad decision, leaving them together, because we did it all the time." Lennox couldn't speak for a moment, and, though he had been looking at the teens up until that point, suddenly didn't want to look at them anymore. "Of course, that's when some hunter mech showed up.

"Everyone who hadn't made it out of High Point yet got scattered during the attack. By the time the raid was over and Sarah was able to try finding the girls, they'd been taken." The man looked back at Sam and Mikaela. "By the time _I_ got back, most of the safe point was demolished… in ruins…" His vision clouded as he recalled scarred earth, imprints of giant feet, dust and smoke hazing the air, building debris and scraps burning, exploded crates of clothes and supplies, wails and cries…

"I immediately went looking for Sarah and Annie, but all I could find was Sarah… crying her eyes out and curled up against the side of a broken building, blaming herself for what had happened. Both of the girls were taken, and so were about seven others – and that's not counting all the guards we knew who were killed in the attack, trying to defend the civilians. At least," Lennox amended coldly, "all nine civilians were unaccounted for. We assumed they were all taken, not killed, but… but we just don't know. We can never know," he whispered the last few words, and again his eyes shifted downward.

"And now you two are here, mechs tailing you right into a safe point, and I just keep picturing…"

The man radiated depression.

Mikaela and Sam exchanged glances. Suddenly they felt as if they were intruding and shouldn't be there, witnessing that sort of parental grief. They couldn't even begin to imagine.

"I'm so sorry," Sam condoled weakly.

Mikaela quietly asked, "How old was – is – your daughter?"

Lennox was understandably a little slow in answering. "Annabelle wasn't even five at the time. She'd be going on six now. Her birthday's in a few months."

The young couple dipped their heads, too, when they heard how young the girl had been. It'd been scary enough going through what they had and they were almost twenty. It hurt to try and picture what a little girl who wasn't even five would have…?

Sam jerked his head up sharply. He looked around spasmodically, like he'd been pumped full of electricity. Mikaela considered telling him off for being rude with the sudden motion; she never got the chance.

"Annabelle... five…!" Sam didn't know why the nickname hadn't clicked before! Military father, took down mechs, destroyed settlement while being babysat because her parents had to help with the safe point… He could see the comprehension dawning on Mikaela. With the same speed he'd whipped his head up, Sam looked to the captain. "What does your daughter look like?" he demanded with a frantic splaying of his hand.

To say that William Lennox was taken aback by the response would have been an understatement. He had no idea what to make of the tone or the question. Surely the kid wasn't trying to be insensitive? "She had blue eyes, although they were very gray at the same time – sort of like a stormy sky," he recalled gently. Even after all that had happened, he couldn't keep a small smile from his face when he drew up the peaceful memories of his girl. "Her hair was right above the shoulder the last I saw her, a dirty-blonde… but a lot yellower than mine – closer to her mom's color. And Annie… she was always a little small for her age, but healthy, not frail." The man cut off abruptly, noticing a change in Sam's demeanor that was now starting to show up on Mikaela. They both looked… amazed, happy. The boy was gaping at him. "Why?" it was his turn to make demands.

"Sir, I – I think we know your daughter!" Sam exclaimed, utterly shocked with what he said even as he said it.

* * *

**A.N.**

There you have it – the start of the beautiful revelation process. I only hope I made the flow of how it came up believable. I hadn't realized how much this fic had become the 'Will and Annabelle Show' over the last couple of chapters until I saw all of last chapter's reviews, lol.

Also, just want to say that I don't endorse Bumblebee's disturbed opinion of meat-eating. I am by no means against vegetarianism or veganism, but I myself could never live without meat (well, I could probably live without red meat, but I would die before I willingly gave up poultry; it's simply too delicious). However, you gotta admit that from the outside looking in, breeding and raising animals simply to kill them does seem a little out there (and that's ignoring the utterly inhumane practices that go on in most of those places).

This time, I probably won't be able to get back to anyone's reviews for at least a week or so, since I'll be on vacation with my family for a week in an internet-less place. Actually, that's one of the reasons I consider this a rougher-than-I'd-like chapter, because I somewhat rushed to get it done and posted before I left. That's also why I haven't gotten back to some questions in reviews from the last chapter, because my focus has been elsewhere…

But if I come home to an inbox full of review alerts, it'll make my year. Don't you want to be a part of that? So, R&R, please!


	24. Responding to Threats

Title: Property Of

Rating: T

Summary: During Cybertronian 'peace,' ex-Cons hide the sentience of and sell humans as pets to secure Earth. Sam and Mikaela might just be the first to grasp the reality of the situation alongside their new owner.

Chapter: Responding to Threats

Wow, I'm a bad person… I didn't even start writing this chapter until the beginning of September. I was too caught up in vacation, coming back from vacation/unpacking, repacking everything in preparation for fall semester, discovering an adorable robot print at JoAnne Fabrics and therefore buying a couple yards of it to sew myself a pair of pajama pants (by hand, since I don't own a sewing machine and don't know how to use them, and boy, is it taking FOREVER). Then, of course, everything that came with starting a new semester and getting my volunteering arrangements in order…

There's a bright side, though – at least I'm not dead.

* * *

Had their species any need to breathe, Stanix surely would have been breathtaking. Not in a traditional sense, Optimus observed as he purposefully wandered the streets towards the city's Hall of Justice (a somewhat antiquated name, in the Prime's opinion). Rather, the fact that it stood at all – and even more, that it seemed to flourish after laying in ruin for so long – was awe-inspiring.

Thankfully, it was a feeling Optimus had become familiar with. It was the same feeling that swelled within him every time he stopped and glanced around at any of Cybertron's cities, each of which had appeared to rise anew from the ashes of their past.

Perhaps that was too poetic. It had not, after all, been easy by any measure. Things had been more than rough in the beginning, as would be expected of any situation where millennia-old enemies were asked to trust one another. Even the act of finding as many as they had and summoning them back to their deserted homeworld had been tough. Tougher still, scavenging up and finding both the materials and the sheer will to rebuild.

Yes, it had been an immense undertaking. But, as Prime acknowledged every mech and femme that he passed, and as they nodded at him or even stopped to bow or dip their heads, and as he saw the once-lost calm and ease and normalcy in expressions that had once been so full of anger, fear, desperation…

It was enough to make his spark soar. There was so much hope and promise held in the functioning of one simple city (the reason behind his latest visit notwithstanding). No one would ever be foolish enough to suggest that this new Stanix compared to the original, or that it was as though the war had never happened, but there was, if nothing else, hope in the city.

At least, there was a thin veil of it. By and by, this peace may have been founded in reality – and, for now, it still seemed as though that were the case – but it had gone on to be constructed from illusion.

Was Stanix really the hopeful symbol he had perceived? Could it ever be, when there was so much more lurking beneath the surface? Ratchet had used the saying too many times for him to ever forget: injuries can be hidden with a fresh coat of paint, but never healed.

When he turned a corner and caught sight of the city's leader standing at the base of the justice hall's steps, framed by two strange mechs with red optics, Optimus couldn't help but wonder the same thing.

He drew closer, and when he was only a few steps away from the mechs, Optimus acknowledged Stanix's administrator. "_**Nitro,**_" he said, simply and pleasantly.

"_**Thank you so much for coming, Prime,**_" Nitro greeted in return. He continued very quickly, effectively cutting off whichever friendly-yet-formal greeting Optimus was about to follow up with. "_**I can't tell you how relieved we were, both sides of the aisle, when Sunstreaker told us he would bring our concerns directly to you… and here you are!**_" The ex-Autobot smiled in palpable relief, and the two unfamiliar red-gazed mechs on either side of him nodded in genuine agreement.

Prime returned the smile much more faintly as he took in the bittersweet scene. Former Decepticons and former Autobots in civilized agreement, unfortunately about so very unsavory an issue. "_**It's a shame we aren't meeting under better circumstances, but it's nice to see you again nevertheless. I'm afraid that we have never met, however,**_" he addressed the other two mechs.

"_**Ah, my apologies about that. Bombshock was recently appointed as one of my council members, and he's been wonderful at the job,**_" Nitro gestured to one of the mechs – the sturdier of the two, with his frame bathed in dark blues, purples, and browns; Bombshock dipped his head and offered his hand in greeting, which Optimus accepted gratefully. "_**And Over-Run has been keeping his optics on Wildrider for us. He's also recorded a great number of the complaints we have, given how close he usually keeps to the mech.**_" The remaining ex-Decepticon, a streamlined mech of off-white with brilliant orange and red accents, also offered his hand in turn.

"_**You've the most information on him?**_" Prime double-checked. Over-Run nodded. "_**What is your measure of him, then, if I may ask?**_"

"_**The peace has effected each of us in a different way, and many have had trouble adjusting, as I'm sure you're well aware,**_" Over-Run said even as he shook Prime's hand. "_**I believe he's been degrading ever since the ceasefire was called, to be honest.**_"

Somberly, Prime nodded. "_**With what I know about him, I wouldn't be surprised.**_"

Nitro glanced at his two companions before asking, "_**We met here because it's a short walk to his living space – where we've confined him for the past few cycles – but before we make the walk over there, we were wondering what exactly the outcomes might be.**_"

"_**Well,**_" Prime said, frowning, "_**that depends entirely on what we find.**_"

Bombshock and Nitro shared a nervous glance. It was Bombshock who said, "_**Is there any chance that you can promise he will be moved? If not into guarded confinement, then to someplace else?**_"

"_**Not at the moment, but we'll see,**_" answered Optimus noncommittally. Sensing that he would continue to be pressed on the issue of what action he would take, and wanting to avoid making any type of prejudgment, he prompted, "_**Perhaps it's best to get down to the point of this visit. I was told I would be escorted to Wildrider's home. Who is leading me there?**_"

"_**That would be me, sir**_," Over-Run said. "_**We also have mechs in the area on standby, if that's okay with you.**_" When Optimus nodded, the ex-Decepticon continued, "_**I suppose those are the logistics of it. We can leave now if you wish.**_"

"_**Thank you**_," answered Prime shortly.

Nitro then dismissed them, wishing them luck, before taking Bombshock and retreating. Over-Run waited only a few seconds more before gesturing at Prime and leading the way down the street in the opposite direction.

The first breem or so passed in apprehensive silence, with each mech waiting for the other to ask a question that they sensed would be unappreciated. Over-Run distracted himself by focusing on the path they took, and Optimus distracted himself by warmly acknowledging every mech they passed in the street. He vaguely recognized some, but mostly the faces were unfamiliar to him, which rather pleased the Prime: these were those same mechs and femmes he had been contemplating earlier. Beings who had long gone into hiding, fleeing contact with others of their species for fear of being dragged into war, who had finally returned to their once-dying planet.

One mech in particular stood out – a golden mech with yellow-white optics, suggesting he may once have been a neutral. There was nothing particularly spectacular about the 'bot that was nearly half his size, nor was anything unusual about the courteous smile and respectful head dip he gave Prime; the only difference was the fact that he had a human following him.

Although the human was somewhat unusual given that his skin was incredibly dark brown (something Optimus rarely saw in any humans he'd glimpsed), that wasn't what caught the mech's optic. Instead, it was the way the relatively youthful male glanced over at him and then froze completely, as though he'd turned suddenly to stone.

They'd passed a few mechs already either carrying humans or with humans following them – a couple, even, on incredibly fine lead-lines which had made the ex-Autobot leader wince inwardly – but none of the captive organics had stalled so completely. Most had barely even glanced at him, either unwilling to face a large mech or too used to Cybertronian presence to care.

So harsh a reaction prompted Optimus, too, to stop, and it took Over-Run a few moments to realize that Optimus had paused. At the same time that the white mech turned to face Prime, the golden mech noticed something amiss and turned in place.

When the stranger saw his human staring at Prime – and Prime staring back, of all things – he hastily backtracked.

"_**I'm so sorry, Prime,**_" he apologized quickly. Likely, noted Optimus, because he was misinterpreting the stare he was giving the human. At the approach and voice of his 'owner,' the human was finally able to tear his eyes away, albeit for a second only. "_**He's usually very well behaved on walks… He means no challenge or offense by staring.**_" The mech sounded a bit flustered as he scooped the still-staring human into his hands. Sensing his pet's distress, he immediately began to stroke the alien's back.

"_**Think nothing of it,**_" Optimus deflected, motioning to Over-Run that'd he'd be right there. "_**He wasn't harming anything, and I seem to have that effect on some humans.**_"

Uncertain of how to act in this situation, the gold mech tucked his human in close and said, "_**Thank you, Prime. We won't hold you up any longer – I'm sure you're very busy.**_"

"_**Nonsense,**_" answered Optimus, giving the mech a reassuring smile before regarding the human again. It was still staring at him, visibly unnerved. "_**Take good care of him,**_" he settled on at last.

The mech looked surprised for a moment. "_**Oh – of course! Of course I will.**_" He dipped his head again, clutching the human ever closer, and awkwardly said a formal good-bye before turning.

"_**What was that about, if I may ask,**_" Over-Run inquired when Optimus came up alongside him. They pressed onward.

"_**Nothing of importance,**_" was the calm answer.

The ex-Decepticon gave a considerate huff and a shrug, politely letting the subject drop.

Processors loosened by the exchange regardless, they continued the walk in light – if inelegant – conversation. Prime asked about Over-Run's personal experience living in Stanix and about his opinions regarding the ceasefire, and Over-Run in turn inquired about how Optimus would theoretically handle a number of issues that could arise. They discussed both of their answers in so casual a way that eavesdroppers might have thought them to be old friends.

At last, however, they arrived at Wildrider's residence – a place relatively removed from the city yet still appearing perfectly pleasant from the exterior. Over-Run saw the look in his Prime's optics and warned, "_**Don't be fooled by the upkeep. It's nothing compared to the inside.**_"

That was about to be determined. Optimus nodded in thanks for the company, then gestured faintly at the door. "_**Wait here for a message from me.**_"

"… _**Sir?**_" Over-Run narrowed his optics, expression entirely one of suspicious confusion.

"_**I will speak with him alone,**_" stated Prime.

Having seen this coming, Over-Run vented a futile sigh. "_**I suppose you won't change your mind, no matter how much I entreat you to reconsider? He is volatile and, worse, unpredictable.**_"

"_**And unarmed, unless he's had access to illegal trading rings. Even if he were, I can handle myself.**_" He considered reminding that many thousands of vorns of war had not managed to offline him, so the odds of one potentially deranged mech being able to were slim, but decided against it. "_**My mind is set. I trust you'll be right here, however, if and when I message you?**_"

"_**Yes – and with a ring of officers already on stand-by in the immediate area. The city's mind is equally set about that**_," warned Over-Run, although gently.

Prime supposed there was little way around that precaution. "_**Very well. You should hear from me soon.**_"

As soon as Over-Run took his firm sentry position outside the door to the abode, Optimus entered.

The first thing the ex-Autobot Commander noticed was that the makeshift foyer was darker than it should have been; two shattered light sockets made the reason for that obvious. The second was a reaffirmation of something he already knew: the supposed-to-be two-residence structure was utterly vacant on one side, with the short hallway leading to the second set of rooms just as dark as the entranceway, with every other light shattered or sparking, and the door at the very end covered with dents and gouges.

Darker still, however, was the hall leading towards Wildrider's part of the complex. A single functioning light struggled in the otherwise darkness of the first hall, and even that was enough to reveal trails of torn metal marring the walls – as though someone had walked down it with claws extended to either side.

Staving off prejudgments, Optimus walked down the abused hallway. Only when he got to the end of the hall did he realize that part of the door was missing, torn through and discarded so that it closed only halfway. Another modification, much less destructive, also appeared to have been made; it slid open the rest of the way upon his approach. Where the motion sensors were was anyone's guess.

"_**Wildrider?**_" he called tentatively.

The inside of the apartment was, thankfully, better lit than the rest of the complex – albeit not by much – with a flickering orange neon light. A desk stood on its side to the right, an askew couch-like piece of furniture claimed the middle of the room, a plain cube-like table with datapads scattered on both it and the nearby floor was shoved in a corner, and four stools were strewn about as though they'd been thrown in a fit.

From a distant room in the complex, there was a rough scraping sound.

"_**May I take a message?**_" an eerily calm voice echoed out. There was a pause, then a chuckle.

Optimus paced a few steps into the room. "_**I only wish to talk with you.**_"

Another pause, another scuffling sound. Wildrider, clearly just hidden from view in an adjoining hallway given the closeness of his voice, called out, "_**And who might I tell him is visiting?**_"

"_**Optimus Prime.**_"

Black erupted from the hallway in a rush. Optimus barely had time to blink before he had a fist pointed in his face, and attached to that fist, a seething black and red mech with systems panting as if he'd just been fighting for his life.

"_**Autobot slagheap,**_" the ex-Stunticon growled. "_**How'd you like ta taste my plasma blaster?**_"

The obvious answer would have been 'no,' but as there was no weapon anywhere on the mech… "_**You're aware we are not enemies – that the war has been dead for several vorns now?**_"

Red optics blinked. "_**No.**_"

"_**No?**_"

"_**Or yes,**_" said Wildrider with a sweeping voice.

Optimus turned his head to the side. "_**Which is it? Do you or don't you understand that we are not at war?**_"

"_**Maybe,**_" the mech answered – or rather, didn't answer. He did, however, retract his arm and spin away. His other arm fixed itself in Prime's direction, like an invisible gun kept aimed at all times.

Refusing to be thrown despite the regret that was already eating at his processors, Optimus stepped further into the room. "_**Do you know why I'm here?**_" He remained quiet for a long while, but he never received an answer. "_**Wildrider?**_"

The mech spun to face him quickly. "_**How do you know my name, Autobot?**_"

"_**We've met multiple times before.**_"

"_**No enemy fraternization! Slagging glitch'd never allow it!**_" Wildrider exclaimed. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then shut it and blinked. All imaginary weapons were stowed away in a second, and then Wildrider began to laugh.

"_**What's so funny?**_" asked Prime.

"_**What Megatron'd give to have you trapped in here! Blow the whole place up**_," he grinned at the larger mech, red optics flashing. "_**The Decepticons are gonna win this war.**_"

"_**The war is over.**_" _For the moment_, was the grim afterthought.

Somehow, the way Wildrider gave him a once over, whispered conspiratorially, "_**You're cute when you say the war is over,**_" paused, and then let out a static-filled laugh, was not as surprising to Optimus as it should have been.

The ex-Decepticon suddenly turned and began walking away.

Prime gave a casual glance over his shoulder towards the door in wordless acknowledgement to Over-Run, Nitro, Sunstreaker – all of them – that they'd been right about the state of Wildrider's processors.

Then again, it wasn't as though the mech had _ever_ been perfectly sane…

"_**Do you know that you've been frightening the other mechs here in Stanix?**_" Optimus moved on, taking a few more steps into the room. He hesitated as his foot scraped what looked like a twisted, discarded bit of armor.

Almost in the hallway now, Wildrider perked, but didn't turn back around. "_**Hmm? 'Scuse me? Did you say something?**_"

"_**Only that you're scaring…?**_"

He was cut off by a growl and grating whine of an incomplete system trying to come online. Wildrider had thrust an arm out at the corner of the main room and the hallway, apparently trying to online his missing cannon. Optimus could hear him muttering, "_**Should be afraid. Very, very afraid… Wildrider will slag any weak-sparked Autobot…**_" Seeming to notice his missing weapon, the black and red mech grimaced, fisted his hand, and then punched the wall. He left a lovely and deep dent. His frame panted once, twice from exertion, and then he straightened. "_**Why should they be scared? There's no war.**_"

/ _**Prime, are you okay? What was that noise?**_ /

Optimus almost startled at the communiqué. / _**I'm perfectly safe. But, perhaps, **_/ he reluctantly admitted, / _**you may tell the local enforcers that they might be needed to escort him away…**_ /

Just as he was starting to feel guilty about maybe giving up on the mech too soon – in spite of Sunstreaker's report and the briefings he'd had since then – Wildrider began to tremble. "_**No war,**_" he mumbled, over and over again, as though trying the phrase out. "_**There wasn't a war, but then there was. There **_**will**_** be. And Megatron'll bust your head in,**_" he growled eventually, voice screechy. He glanced at Optimus almost as an afterthought. "_**And I'll…**_" Wildrider stared at his fist intently before unclenching it. "_**Do nothing! I'm nothing, not anything, 'cause there's **_**no war**_**.**_" He narrowed his optics at his visitor, yet it wasn't unfriendly this time. "_**Why'd you suggest something so ridiculous?**_"

Content to let the mech speak his mind, Optimus allowed the silence to last for nearly a breem. Wildrider certainly didn't seem to sense that it was lasting so long, and he remained wordless the entire time. Prime eventually confided, "_**You are not well. If you'd permit, you might receive help.**_"

"_**Not well?**_" Wildrider nearly gasped. Abruptly, he laughed, and then punched the wall – with less force, but still forceful enough to dent it slightly. "_**Of course I'm not well. I'm missing three limbs and a head!**_"

"_**Which limb do you have left?**_" pressed Prime good-naturedly.

"_**Left leg,**_" he practically sang. He shook his own left leg in demonstration. "_**No other leg, no arms, no head, no body…**_" He chuckled.

How much of this was a result of the gestalt separation clearly being described? Optimus frowned. No other mech had had such difficulties that he'd been told about. Most likely, the separation had only exacerbated Wildrider's instability…

/_** There are several enforcers right outside now. Tell me when to send them in, and I will, **_/ commed Over-Run.

"_**Wanna blow up Iacon with me**_?" Wildrider whispered. "_**It's an Autobot stronghold – slaggers'll never know what hit 'em!**_"

"_**I would rather not.**_"

"_**Aw, come on! Mechs screamin', the city burnin', explosions everywhere, and you can keep talking about how there isn't any war – everyone needs a romantic night out!**_" Wildrider beamed at the prospect, all happiness and excitement, and then he grew darker. "_**And maybe Starscream'll come out of hiding, show us where Megatron is… raise up the Decepticons, and destroy every other Autobot sanctuary on this fragging planet!**_" Then, another light switch flipped, "_**SPY! Autobot spy! **_**How did you slip past security?**" he hissed, pointing at Prime and trying yet again to bring nonexistent weapons online.

/ _**You can send them in now… It may be best if he and I continued this discussion under more controlled settings, **_/ Optimus signaled Over-Run.

One couldn't have counted to ten by the time there were three enforcers in the room, and yet, by the time they were there, Wildrider was across the room and pretending to map out an attack plan on the wall. When he noticed the newcomers, his initial response was, "_**I don't want whatever you're selling,**_" followed quickly by, "_**Are you here to join the rebellion?**_"

Either surprisingly or unsurprisingly – Optimus, at least, couldn't decide which he felt – Wildrider put up no fuss at being loosely stasis-cuffed. Instead, he treated it as a game. It was only when he started to be escorted from the room that he began cursing the enforcers as Autobot intelligence agents who'd come to kidnap him during recharge, in spite of the fact that one of the mechs very clearly had red optics. Optimus followed them quietly, and by the time they were standing outside in front of Over-Run, Wildrider was back to trying to recruit them for a coup d'état.

"_**A detainment center only, Prime?**_" asked Over-Run.

"_**For now, yes. I do not want him treated as a warmonger, though. I am not sure how aware of himself he really is at this point.**_" He frowned at the ex-Decepticon, who seemed momentarily to break down into hysterics at the realization that he was going to be detained, only to recover from it when Over-Run spoke next.

"_**Then we'll make sure there is no unfair treatment, as the law stipulates. Until an official examination, should we treat him as criminally insane?**_"

Apparently, this was offhanded praise to Wildrider's audios, and he began rubbing a shoulder against one of his captors to gain the mech's attention and approval, as though they were pals. The green mech receiving the attention grew openly uncomfortable.

"_**Do. And, do not wait for me; I will be along shortly,**_" Prime advised. "_**I have a few more things to observe.**_"

"_**Yes, Sir,**_" said Over-Run, and he gestured the enforcers off. The last that could be heard of Wildrider as he was led away was an attempt to flirt with the now-twitchy green mech. Over-Run made to follow them but paused. "_**If it's of any consolation,**_" he said carefully, "_**I feel no satisfaction that we were right about him needing to be detained. It was necessary, not desirable.**_"

Although Prime couldn't find the words to answer, Over-Run didn't seem offended. He nodded understandingly before following after the small group, leaving Optimus to his thoughts.

Oh, what thoughts.

Most pressing, the notion of war. If war swept across their civilization once again, not even he was sure what to expect at this point. Only die-hard Decepticon supporters would return to their faction, Optimus thought. Many of them had tasted a better, easier life during the ceasefire, and unless the potential reward was so great as to completely outshine that, Optimus suspected that a fair share of mechs – ex-Decepticon and ex-Autobot alike – would suddenly disappear into the fold of neutrals and flee the conflict.

Mechs like Over-Run and Bombshock, for example. Optimus couldn't envision them dropping everything and returning to Megatron on a whim of any kind. Others, like Wildrider (and to an extent, he mused, even Ironhide), rather flourished under wartime conditions, and might welcome a return to arms for various reasons.

For what gain, though? And at what cost?

He knew that there was something terribly amiss on Earth, and recalled the human who'd stopped dead in its tracks and stared at him on the way there. While Swindle might have been the highest single mech in charge of the human trade – and basically all Earth trades – he was not the mech who had discovered the planet, and he was far from the only one involved. The value of its resources aside (because resources could have been found elsewhere), something had to have those mechs as interested in the planet as they were… something important enough to have them risk dismantling and concealing an alien civilization.

But _what_? The question stung at the very core of his spark. Something in his very being dreaded the answer, dreaded what it implied… and that same part of him insisted that war was resting just beyond the horizon. Since Jazz's discovery of human sentience, it seemed only a matter of time before the whole of Cybertronian civilization fell to 'Wildrider Syndrome.'

That left him with one of the greatest dilemmas he'd faced in his recent existence: how long did he truly expect the humans to continue to suffer due to inaction, and how much would they suffer _because of_ whatever actions he took?

It was an impossible situation.

Suddenly, the green mech Wildrider had been failingly flirting with reappeared. "_**You said you'd like to accompany us to the holding center, Prime?**_" he asked. "_**I was asked to stay behind and make sure you knew your way.**_"

"_**Yes – I want to make sure everything is handled appropriately,**_" Optimus confirmed. "_**I suppose I could follow you now.**_" The smaller mech nodded, and when he turned to leave, he waved Optimus over. Prime wordlessly complied.

An impossible situation, yes… and one that he couldn't idly allow to continue for much longer.

He hoped that Jazz, Bumblebee, and the scout's human charges were faring better with their efforts on Earth.

* * *

William Lennox stared at Sam, face unmoving. He was unsure how long he stared at the boy, and barely remembered when he turned his attention to Mikaela to stare at her for a few seconds, only to look back at Sam when he decided he preferred the latter's dumbfounded expression to hers.

"No. No, you don't," he said at length, slowly.

Apparently the teenagers were unconvinced by his statement.

"No, I… seriously, I think we do," Sam insisted. "We know this girl named Annabelle and you seriously just described everything we know about her. She said she was four and a half, but that was a while ago, and kids sometimes get screwed up about exactly how old they are – like, four and a half to them could really be four and ten months or something – but it totally fits. I mean, how many five- or six-year-old blonde Annabelles with military fathers living in safe points have been bot-napped, you know? It can't be a coincidence, it has to be her," rambled Sam, beginning to focus less on convincing Lennox and more on simply trying to understand the enormity of odds they'd just defied.

Coincidence? Lennox narrowed his eyes at the teenagers. Was that what he was supposed to accept this as? Some huge cosmic _coincidence_?

Even if it was the same Annabelle, and they weren't simply lying through their teeth – and Will's emotions felt a painful tug, because he knew he should never trust strangers (let alone strangers who wandered around with mechs as escorts), but the pair of them looked so genuinely amazed at and sincere about the discovery – that didn't mean it was some fated coincidence. Life rarely had such things.

Instead, his training and his wariness provided the easiest and probably most likely explanation: Their landing here, in this sector, was not a mistake at all. It wasn't chance that had brought the first alien spy into their specific midst. What better way to try and snake themselves into a human's heart and earn human trust than by finding an emotionally compromised authority figure, and then 'miraculously' offer a solution to that person's grief?

It made perfect sense that they would find a man whose child had been taken, then dangle the prospect of reunion as a ploy to show that they meant well. That, or just as plausible, they could blackmail a person into cooperating while the safety of his or her child hung in the balance.

Maybe the mechs had withheld that information even from Sam and Mikaela, mused Lennox while he watched the two continue to try and explain to both him and themselves that his daughter and the Annabelle they'd met were the same person. To get a spotless performance out of them, their beloved mechs might've kept the plan a secret.

The worst part of it was that Will wasn't sure how much he cared about all of that.

If they had his daughter, whether it was by sheer luck or as a part of some nefarious master plan, then he wanted her back. To hold her, to be able to run his hand comfortingly through her hair, to actually be able to feel the life in her – her heartbeat, the warmth of her fragile body – as he hugged her close in the safety of his arms, bringing her back to Sarah and seeing his wife light up for the first time in over a year…

He would do anything in the world to get her back, probably even if it meant betraying everything he stood for as a soldier in this mess of an intergalactic war.

The thought terrified him.

He definitely needed to pull Epps and the other patrol leaders aside for a discussion after this.

Right now, though, he needed more information from the rambling teens. The conflicted, still-frowning captain stiffened when he heard them mentioning Annabelle's owner. It stood to reason that if they knew his daughter, then…

"You know the mech that keeps her," Lennox stated rather than asked.

His sudden question made both Sam and Mikaela shut up and look at him.

"Well, yeah," Sam agreed. "If you call hanging around a mech who thinks you're his friend's pet and then getting to talk to him once or twice '_knowing_' someone, then yeah."

Because that was exactly what he'd meant when he asked the question, thought Will sarcastically. "You've spoken to him?" repeated Lennox. "About what?"

Mikaela shrugged. "Not a lot. We didn't have a lot of time to have any conversations or anything. Mostly we only know him because he and this other mech he lives with are both friends with Bumblebee, and fought in that war of theirs together, so we'd get brought over to them sometimes for play dates."

"Play dates…? With the mechs, or with… with Annabelle?" he managed after a moment of disbelief. Hell, his daughter was surrounded by _two _mechs?

A part of him was still operating under the assumption that this was all a lie, or at least a misunderstanding. It was the only explanation he could come up with for why it hurt as little as it did to speak about Annabelle as if she hadn't been gone for more than a year.

"With Annabelle, mostly," Mikaela answered him. "Although the medic that lived there, Ratchet, liked to mess with us a lot, too. I wouldn't call that playing, though. And we saw him play with Annabelle a few times, but Ironhide doesn't exactly seem like a play date sort of guy."

"Ironhide?" That was the name of the mech who had his daughter? "That doesn't sound nice at all," Lennox muttered. Compared to 'Bumblebee' and 'Jazz,' what the hell did a name like that even _mean_?

"Well, that might have something to do with the fact that he was a weapons specialist and a tough frontline fighter," Sam said without thinking. However, at the look of absolute terror that washed over Will's face, Sam confusedly retraced his words and started flailing a bit in panic at his lack of thought. For his stupidity, Mikaela smacked him on the back of the head. "No, no! He's really nice! Even before they all started speaking English, he was always real gentle and stuff. He'd never hurt her," assured Sam. "I mean, you shoulda _seen_ the look he gave me this one time, before they could speak, when he thought I might flip out on her. He'd probably kill anyone who tried to hurt her. Literally."

Mikaela offered quickly after, "He's had her for a while now. She seems to really like him from what she's told us on the occasions that we've spoken with her. Ironhide's really protective of her."

Lennox looked from boy to girl, face going through so many subtle expression changes ranging from dread to happiness that it might have been amusing any other time.

"Would he ever give her back?" Lennox asked the all-important question.

Mikaela nodded instantly, wordlessly.

"When Bumblebee gets back, we'll ask him to contact Ironhide for you. I'm sure it's the same Annabelle… They're really fond of each other. Your daughter's in safe hands," Sam finished, wincing at how lame he sounded.

No. His daughter was in alien hands, far from safe. They could talk and console all they wanted, telling stories of all the times they'd spent with Annabelle since they'd first encountered her and about how strong a bond they thought existed between her and this mech, but Lennox could never be swayed by them without her physically there in front of him, even if he'd wanted to find comfort in their words. Comfort was, unluckily for Sam and Mikaela, something he knew would never come through words alone.

* * *

Wheeljack cradled his hand in silent shock. Not anger, simply shock. The brownish alien, on the other hand, looked a mix of angry and terrified, all fierce – and apparently armed – determination.

Where the human had gotten the sharp blade-like weapon it now wielded was anyone's guess. It – he – had managed to conceal it from Dropkick well enough to never have it taken away, that much was obvious. Wheeljack himself certainly hadn't noticed it until it had been shoved into one of his finger joints when he went to release the human for the first time into the house.

Now, he had a hurt hand and a hostile human crouched defensively under his desk.

Wheeljack didn't know what he'd done wrong. He'd gotten the human, been very careful about transporting him home, and, the moment they were safe in his main room, he'd placed the carrier on the ground and began talking.

"Hope you don't mind the place," he'd first said. "We've got a lot to talk about."

Then, next thing he knew, there was a sharp pain invading his hand. Wheeljack had quickly reclaimed the limb, only to watch the newest addition to his home rush out from the carrier for the relative safety of the desk, bearing a sharp bit of metal.

The pair of them simply stared at one another after that.

Luminescent panels flickering pitifully, Wheeljack asked, "What's wrong? What did I do?" It was easy to see the organic recoil at the use of English now that he was out of the carrier. That prompted the engineer to insist, "Everything's okay, I'm not going to hurt you. I only want to help."

The human's wary gaze shot up and down, taking in every detail of this new threat. "Bullshit."

Hmm? Wheeljack cocked his head to the side. What a curious expletive! "I… don't know what that means exactly," he sheepishly admitted. As he spoke he tested his injured finger joint and then carefully lowered himself to the floor so that he would seem less imposing.

"You're lying," the human accused, changing his grip on the makeshift weapon.

"No, I really don't know what it… Oh. Oh, that's what that phrase means." That's what Wheeljack had thought, but… "I'm not lying – promise. See?" he motioned at his hand. "I don't even mind; you can keep that if it makes you feel better." The human glanced at his weapon, but didn't calm at all. "What's your name?"

That prompted narrow eyes. "Why do you care?"

Wheeljack brightened marginally. "Well," he said, "it's only polite. We're going to be roommates for a while, anyway." The ex-Autobot gestured vaguely at himself with his uninjured hand. "I'm Wheeljack."

"Nick," said the organic, sharp and concise. The ex-Autobot suspected the response was more out of habit than anything else.

Not to be deterred, Wheeljack pressed, "No surname?"

Another glare. "Vega." A tense pause. "Why does it matter?"

"It doesn't, really," said Wheeljack with a shrug. "Just polite and trying to make conversation. I was sort of hoping for a better round of introductions, but, there you have it." Fins glowing bright with realization, he observed, "You were probably a soldier on Earth, then, weren't you? That would explain the weapon and your ability to conceal it so well."

Nick tensed. "Is that why you chose me?"

"Huh? No, no," assuaged Wheeljack, suddenly thinking he understood the wariness. "No, you just looked the most in need of being taken out of there. What it was you did on Earth wasn't a factor, I promise on my spark. I'm not planning on interrogating you or something – Primus forbid!"

All suspicion, Nick hazarded, "Then why do you speak English? Those that caught us told us we'd never hear it again."

"Oh, because I'm in-the-know. There's only a handful of us outside of the trade that know humans are sentient, and one of my close friends was one of the few to figure it out. Ergo, now I know a few Earth languages!" said Wheeljack proudly. "I never had a human before, but I realized that it was the least I could do to take at least one of you out of the stores."

"And what are you gonna do with me?" the young former soldier pried, never once loosening his grip on the weapon that he'd fashioned in secret out of a bit of broken fence and peeling metallic floor.

Tilting his head again, Wheeljack said confusedly, "Nothing…? You can do whatever you want. I'm not here more than half the time anyway, because I like being in a lab or getting my hands dirty inventing something, so the place is pretty much yours. Well, it'll be yours until I bring home another human or something, because then it'll be his or hers, too… It's better than the store, though, at any rate, and that's why I got you." Wheeljack straightened. "You can come out, you know."

"No thanks; I'm happy where I am," said Nick.

"Oh," said Wheeljack, disappointedly. "Okay." His panels flickered dimly for a bit. Then he sighed. "Well, if you need anything, I'll be in my room. There're some blankets and food and things over in that corner," he gestured toward the corner with the supplies, "and my room's right over there," he gestured at a door adjoined to the main room. "I'll let you get settled, I guess…"

Wheeljack climbed to his feet and steadily gathered up the carrier. As he headed off to his room, he couldn't help but feel disappointed – that had gone nothing like he'd intended! He hadn't realized how scared this human was, and he wondered briefly if that was anything like how the humans he'd met so far had first felt.

The fault probably wasn't his, though, he acknowledged. That, at least, made the engineer feel a little better. Maybe it wouldn't be too long before the human realized he wasn't in any danger. Then, maybe they could be friends! And then, once they were great friends, Wheeljack could ask him all sorts of questions about Earth, and get to answer all sorts of questions about Cybertronians.

Yes! That would be wonderful.

Disappointment temporarily forgotten, the inventor began to think of a dozen different things he could potentially create that would make for better weapons and armor for humans when it came to defending themselves from mechs… Surely that was something he could eventually convince this 'Nick' fellow to help him with, right? He certainly seemed enthusiastic enough about self defense!

* * *

Luckily enough for Lennox's sanity, Epps came back earlier than expected, with both mechs following him. Misinterpreting his tension and silence for continued disbelief, Sam and Mikaela had continued to offer stories about Annabelle and reassurances about Ironhide. After a while, he wasn't even sure it was done in an effort to soothe him. He began to assume it was done simply to fill the awkward silence that was sure to have formed had they stopped, because at this point, Lennox wasn't about to offer a lot of amiable conversation.

The teens were trying to describe an apparently monstrous alien space ship where these Ironhide and Ratchet characters lived when he first heard the sounds of approach. Lennox was on alert instantly. The moment he leapt up at the ready, Sam and Mikaela quieted and began watching the woods apprehensively.

"Just you, Will?" Epps's voice called out well before any of the returning party was visible.

Relieved, Lennox answered, "The kids and me, yeah. Still clear."

Whereas Lennox let himself relax the tiniest amount, focusing on stealing himself for whatever it was the teens and the mechs had to say about this supposed-his Annabelle, said teenagers did the opposite, noticeably exciting.

Epps and Donnelly were the first visible. A few paces behind them – yet spotted at almost the same time due to their bright armor – were Jazz, who seemed distant in thought, and Bumblebee, who was tapping his fingers together innocently. The latter brightened when he saw his friends perfectly happy, right where he'd left them.

"They say there should be a way to get it to scan for some of the metals in their…?" Epps began logistically, only to stop when he noticed that Sam looked like he was about to explode. He raised an eyebrow. "You okay, there, kid?" When Bumblebee made a concerned questioning sound, Epps only spared the mech the quickest of glances.

Finally acknowledged, Sam began to speak his incoherent mind. "You're not going to believe…! This is so crazy, it's… seriously, it's practically impossible! Mikaela and I – I mean, this – it's just…!" Sam said with waving arms, causing mechs and humans alike to stare at him with varying degrees of worry.

Bumblebee glanced suspiciously at Lennox. The humans had been under his care, so if something had gone wrong, it was Lennox's fault. But, Bee quickly diverted his gaze. He crouched so that Sam and Mikaela would not have to strain their necks so greatly, and Jazz, utterly intrigued by the hyper flailing and excitable speech pattern, did the same.

"What're you on about?" ventured Jazz.

"What happened?" Bee asked.

Sam stopped moving and took a deep breath. "You know Annabelle."

Epps started. "Annabelle?"

Bumblebee couldn't determine whether Sam had posed that as a question or as a statement of fact, and he could only blink at Epps's reaction. Either way, it was an unexpected beginning to a conversation. "Ironhide's Annabelle?" Bee asked, although he had little doubt that they could be talking about anyone else.

The scout didn't miss the way Lennox stiffened at that response, or the way that a couple patrolmen – Epps included – looked sharply at their commanding officer.

"Not Ironhide's. _His_," Mikaela shook her head.

"His?"

The lack of comprehension was either genuine or very well acted; so was the moment of realization and simultaneous denial. Bumblebee's optics semi-shuttered several times, eventually refocusing on the teenagers before turning warily onto Lennox and going through another series of seeming spasms. Then, Bee shook his head (which prompted Jazz to cross his arms in mounting frustration).

"That… that can't be right," Bumblebee muttered, blinking furiously at Lennox. The scout decided he didn't like the way the silent human was bristling at his reaction, and looked back at Sam and Mikaela. "It's astronomical. Odds are _so_ against it, there's no _way_…! You've made a mistake," Bee concluded in flipping tones, voice as animated as a child's.

Mikaela turned the tables, "His daughter's name is Annabelle, same background story, same appearance. Sir, tell him!" she begged of Lennox. However, the man kept silent, opting instead to stare at the yellow mech and his confused silver partner.

Something in the scout's body audibly hitched, which made some of the soldiers tense.

"But that would mean…?" Bumblebee looked back at Lennox. As if he hadn't been wary enough of the human already. He whirred anxiously. "You're a mech killer."

Jazz tilted his head up. "I've never seen 'em kill anyone," he offered, ignoring the way the other humans began nervously shifting at Bumblebee's comment. Frowning, he backtracked, "Wait a fraggin' second, there. Are you sayin' you guys know his kid?"

Everyone looked at Jazz, and while the teens would easily have been able to answer, Bumblebee was the one to say, "Ironhide took in a traumatized little girl from Prowl named Annabelle. When we learned English, she told us her father was a soldier, and that he killed 'bad robots' – obviously she meant the Decepticons. Prime thinks they were probably drones, but… still…"

Not that the mech had thought the humans were harmless or anything! Still, it was one thing to assume someone was capable of killing and another entirely to know that they had killed.

"Our team has taken down mechs – or drones, whatever – several times," Epps spoke up hesitantly.

Something seemed to click in Jazz. "Ah – so that's what ya must a' been braggin' about on some a' those occasions. That _is_ pretty impressive of ya." As before, he jumped back to the other topic at hand without preface. "Ironhide's got his daughter?"

"Show him a picture of her," Sam jumped in. Bumblebee started at the interjection. Apologetically, Sam continued, "I mean your projector, hologram thing. Show him Annabelle, just in case. And Ironhide! He wanted to see Ironhide."

Chirring in nervousness – and even going so far as to anxiously twiddle his fingers – Bumblebee switched his optical sensors into an output mode. He turned towards the warehouse and began generating the image of a young girl against its outer wall.

There was no need to ask Lennox whether or not it was his daughter; the ragged inhale as the fine facial features were added was all the information anyone needed.

They left him to his silence for a while, never commenting when he took a few steps closer to the wall. Minutes passed before he spoke.

"Show me who has her," Lennox bit out, crossing his arms over his chest in preparation. He never looked away from the wall, merely slid his eyes over when a second image took shape.

It was the Ironhide that Bumblebee best remembered, which meant that two signature cannons materialized along with the rest of the mech, scaled down to use the entire height of the warehouse and be relative in size to the image of Annabelle.

Again, he inhaled. "_That's_ Ironhide?" Lennox asked as he looked over the projection. His hands nearly dropped to his sides in awe. He was certainly no true judge of robot appearances, but he really didn't think that the fierce-looking, massive, purely black-crested mech gave off a single vibe of gentleness – especially when Lennox caught sight of the huge firearms attached to the mech's arms! Epps whistled in awe.

That mech couldn't have Annabelle, shouldn't… The captain glared at the wall, focus shooting between the two projections. His insides felt like a man lost in a swelling storm.

_What should he do now?_

Bumblebee, who allowed his hologram display to turn off with a click, gave a soft nod of confirmation. It wasn't very comforting to Will, who jumped minutely at the sudden disappearance of his daughter from the wall. Of course, the two teens noticed this immediately.

"We're not lying to you, Mr. Lennox," Mikaela insisted. "He's not as inapproachable as he looks."

"I have known Ironhide for a very long time, Captain," said Bumblebee warily, earning the man's still-dazed attention. "He prides himself on appearing incredibly tough and calloused, and it's true that he excels at fighting, but he's also one of the kindest mechs I've ever known, and was once my mentor. He hides it for our sakes," he admitted, "but those who know Ironhide know there is more to him than cannons and gruffness."

"Mech's a pushover if ya know how to work 'im – like a giant, armed teddy bear," Jazz grinned. More seriously, he confided, "It's a lucky draw she ended up with 'Hide. I wasn't aware he had any humans 'til a second ago, but I'm willin' to bet there ain't a safer place for her in the universe."

Lennox begged to differ. As long as she was too many miles away to count, surrounded by a race of alien war machines and not tucked away in his arms, hidden from the world, Annabelle was not as safe as she could be.

The captain was proud to be able to pull himself together to say, "I want her back. She needs to come home, and I need to see her safe. I don't care what you say this… mech is like." Oddly, Will found himself unable to use the mech's name (would he ever be able to, so long as said mech had his daughter in its clutches?). He glanced fleetingly at the teenagers. "They said you'd return her."

Bumblebee felt like cowering back from the intensity in the human's expression; he settled for sinking shorter on his struts. "We can ask Optimus. It's… difficult to just send mechs here, because we don't want to make anyone suspicious, but…" At the man's narrowing eyes, Bee hastened to add, "But we'll get her back, I promise. Optimus wants all of you returned, and Ironhide knows she's better off with her human family. He'll bring her back, just maybe not right away."

Unable to decide whether that was good or bad news, Will simply stared.

Jazz seized the opportunity to posit, "Does that mean we got your permission to comm Prime?"

"Our permission?" demanded Epps, since Will continued to stare blankly.

"I haven't checked in with the boss-mech since Bee got here. Didn't wanna send any communiqués behind your back or anythin', ya know? So we were waiting for the all-clear," said Jazz.

Donnelly shifted. "And you got a superior who don't mind that? Not checking in was okay?"

"Optimus knew ahead a' time we might not be commin' him for a while. He knew I planned on havin' us wait for your 'okay.' An' if we have that, I could probably ask to get a message to or from 'Hide for ya," he tacked on, looking hopefully at Lennox.

The man blinked up at them. He looked from Jazz's optimistic face to Bumblebee's concerned one, from Mikaela's now-in-control expression to Sam's still-thrown-by-all-this one.

"Talk to your leader. Do what you have to. And get me whatever confirmation you can that Annabelle's okay," said Lennox. "It's not like we can stop you radioing each other anyway."

"Maybe not forcibly, but we wouldn't do it against your will," Bee offered.

Jazz nodded. "Heads up, though – it might be a few days 'til we got a response. Slag's gettin' real now; we gotta super-encrypt the messages both ways, so don't be surprised if I don't have an answer for ya' for a little bit."

"Fine," Lennox said succinctly. Then, abruptly after a short silence, "We need to tell the other patrols."

The patrolmen shifted and swayed, and the four life-altering visitors blinked in surprise.

"Will?" Epps questioned, stepping closer. After years of working with Lennox, he was pretty sure where this was heading.

"I don't know if I can trust myself with this," Lennox told him, quietly, although still loud enough for everyone to hear.

"What do you mean?" asked Epps, but not because he didn't already know the answer. He had to hear Lennox say it himself.

The captain frowned. "I'm too emotionally compromised. I don't know what I might do, and… I can't risk the safe point like that."

"Will, you've been a brother to me since the day we wound up deployed together, back before all this shit went down," said Epps, grabbing Lennox's shoulder and squeezing tightly. He looked his friend dead in the eye. "I know how much Annie's always meant to you," he confided, gaze never straying, "and I also know that you got this. You're not gonna do anything stupid – you're not gonna be the guy that sells out a safe point. Tell the other heads of patrol, sure," Epps agreed before giving an extra squeeze, "but I don't want you thinking for a second that you're gonna be a security risk. We're behind your decisions and we're in it together, good or bad. I got your back. We all do."

Will eyed his friend and knew without having to think about it that Bobby was sincere. After a few tense seconds he relented, exhaling in a rush and nodding. "I know you guys do." He glanced over his fellow soldier's shoulder to find both mechs watching him hesitantly, Sam and Mikaela doing the same. "But we're calling in a meeting with the patrol heads: Graham, Chun, Jordan, and Howard at minimal. Maybe the other sector heads, too. They need to know about you and all this."

Whatever went down, things needed to start happening, and they needed to start happening now. Two things, preferably: things that got him his daughter back, and things that would pull humanity up from the string it'd been dangling on.

With the way the mechs nodded at his announcement and looked as determined as he did, the captain dared to hope that maybe those two things might be one in the same.

* * *

**A.N.**

There we have it. Things should start picking up a little more soon, for those who worried about plotline stagnation. Stuff _will_ be going down, I promise.

The throwaway line about humans being walked on lead lines (leashes) was something I'd toyed with as an idea before, but ultimately found to be too ridiculous an image to include regularly (given size differences between some mechs and some humans, it could be like a human walking a guinea pig down the street, which looks weird). **Nessus** convinced me to at least acknowledge the possibility, however.

Also, 'Nick Vega' is technically not an OC. He's intended to be 'Baby Face' from Lennox's team in Dark of the Moon (who I _think_ is that guy who said, 'I can find my own ride home, Sir.'). They don't give him an actual name in the movie, so – like I did with the rest of Lennox's patrol team – I took a couple other minor soldier-actors' actual names and mixed first and last to come up with the story name.

Finally, guess who gets to show up for _real _in the next chapter? Assuming things go according to the rough outline I have, that is… o.o I'll give you a hint – there's two of them.

Oh, and please review as well as keep an eye out for pesky typos (as **PyroDea** continues to wonderfully do for me). Many thanks!


	25. Inclusion

Title: Property Of

Rating: T (a few bad words from soldiers)

Summary: During Cybertronian 'peace,' ex-Cons hide the sentience of and sell humans as pets to secure Earth. Sam and Mikaela might just be the first to grasp the reality of the situation alongside their new owner.

Chapter: Inclusion

Thanks to **Horser01 **and **PyroDea** for pointing out my typos! I very much appreciate the continued effort.

* * *

No one had bothered trying to paint the picture as anything other than what it was: when the warehouse door opened and Donnelly came in with the patrol leaders following him, apprehension was tangible in the atmosphere. So much so, in fact, that Donnelly himself seemed briefly to question staying.

One after the other stepped in with informal greeting, each looking concerned in his or her own way, but still blissfully ignorant of the truth of the situation. They each found a place where they felt comfortable, and, waiting for an address, began to pass speculative looks around the room.

"Why weren't these two taken in yet?"

It was the first verbal acknowledgement Sam and Mikaela received from any of the four other patrol leaders as they joined Lennox. The question came from the only woman of the bunch, Karen Chun, and was asked with a suspicious lilt.

"I can't believe your team is hung up on a pair of teenagers. That's gonna look bad in the records," Clinton Howard, the only black patrol leader, took the opportunity to say with a grin. Not even his grin could hide his nervousness.

Apparently, calling together all sector patrol leaders out of the blue wasn't a very common practice.

"It ain't the kids we're hung up on," Epps mumbled, sharing a knowing look with Lennox.

"Well, then, what is it?" asked Emory Jordan, who dropped heavily onto a supply crate; Howard soon did the same. Jordan looked around at his fellow leaders then at the handful of Lennox's team that was there: Epps, Donnelly, and Togg. Finally, he glanced at Sam and Mikaela with that same look of 'I can tell there's something more to you' in his eyes. He turned back to Lennox after propping his leg up on the crate. "You didn't drag us out here just to say hello to them again."

"Not hello to _them_," Epps once more mumbled a comment that no one except for Lennox, Sam, and Mikaela (and presumably the mechs) was intended to hear.

Matthew Graham – whose British accent Mikaela had told Sam she found adorable, much to her boyfriend's consternation – was the only one who didn't direct his quietly suspicious gaze at the teens. Instead, he was eyeing the vehicles they sat near. Of the lot of them, Graham had worked with Lennox the longest. When he caught the captain's eye, the two stared at each other long and hard; Lennox gave the barest dip of his head in a half-nod, and Graham immediately sighed, closed his eyes, and raised his hand to rest it on the strap of his main gun.

"Going to give us some explanations, then?" he said aloud, tense yet still trusting. Chun, Jordan, and Howard all turned to him and began nodding. Unlike Graham, they hadn't yet guessed the reason behind the meeting – but they were still more than ready for an explanation.

Lennox turned partially, glancing more at the windshields of the transformed mechs than at Sam and Mikaela. When he turned back to face his fellow soldiers, he said seriously, "Our perimeter isn't as secure as we thought it was."

The pause that followed was laden with confusion.

"But the scanners…?" Chun began. "Did something happen to them?" Again, it was said with a guarded look passed to Mikaela and Sam.

"All of them except one are where they should be," assured Lennox, gesturing over to a chair with a partially dismantled scanner on it. "The thing is, they aren't foolproof. They can't necessarily pick up every mech that comes across them."

"And who told you that? We didn't get any memos," Howard said. His eyes began roaming warily of their own accord, as though expecting a sneak attack. He hadn't particularly liked the feel of this meeting when he first heard about it, and now…

"No one got any memos," Epps told him. "This news didn't come from the top."

"Then where did it come from? Unless one of you is a secret tech-scientist, that isn't the sort of information that suddenly up and comes to you in an epiphany," countered Jordan, voice rising in misplaced tension.

Already the apprehension was switching targets, moving from the silent (and nervous) teenagers to the silent cars. Graham's unwavering staring at the 'vehicles' in question probably helped fuel the others' quickly-changing suspicions.

"Firsthand experience," was Lennox's short, if strained, answer.

The responses were almost immediate.

"Oh hell no," Jordan followed up, shaking his head. When he finally stopped and fastened his eyes on Lennox, he was livid. "_Hell_ no."

Howard tensed on his crate and inhaled sharply. "You better not be about to tell us what I think you're about to tell us," he warned.

Chun's attention snapped to the bright cars, and then she began searching amongst everyone's faces, pleading for them to say _anything_ except for what the sudden shift in the room pointed towards.

The mood had degenerated at lightning pace. Lennox saw little point in dragging it out any further and letting the others get even edgier.

"There are two mechs inside the perimeter right now, and they aren't setting off a single scanner alarm."

"Or your _own_ fucking alarms, apparently!" Howard shot right back. He was off of the crate in a split second, his whole body tense. His posture was mirrored in Jordan; Chun was too stunned to get up, and Graham continued to stare quietly. Once Howard was sure he had Lennox's full attention, he pointed angrily at the not-so innocent Camaro and Solstice. "Are you seriously telling us that you let two mechs in here? Not even just one, but two_?_"

"Are you insane? What were you thinking – what _are_ you thinking?" Jordan demanded.

"Hey," Togg and Donnelly both began, defensively, coming out of their silent and lax positions.

"Can you guys calm the hell down for a minute?" Epps's voice rose above the rest. He suddenly had all the patrol heads' eyes – excluding Graham's – on him. He didn't speak for a second, instead giving them a moment to breathe. "How about you give us a minute to explain before you start looking for guns to shoot the place up? Fighting and screaming isn't gonna get anyone anywhere – we called you here for a reason, and I know we can be civil about this."

Protests were clearly begged to spring from both Howard and Jordan (and wow, Lennox had never noticed how similar their personalities were before), but they stifled them.

"Okay then," said Howard, straining to calm down from the rush of emotions that had unexpectedly surged in him. "What do you suggest, since you're so in-the-know?"

Clapping Epps on the shoulder in thanks for his help, Lennox said, "We didn't know the one was a mech until Sam and Mikaela showed up." He gestured at the individuals as he mentioned them. "They showed up with Big Yellow over here," he gave a backwards nod at the still-silent Camaro, "saying they'd been taken and sold to him as pets." Lennox paused and let the others make their expressions of disbelief. "They also said that the vast majority of mechs have no idea we're sentient, and the handful that managed to find out are as interested as we are in getting the ones who've been raiding Earth out of here." Another pause to let that sink in. Then for the bombshell that made him want to reveal this in the first place… "They know where my daughter is."

It was the first thing said that made Graham look away from the mechs. The newly informed soldiers' faces were a veritable sea of comprehension, pity, disbelief, and wariness.

"I _think_ I trust them," said Lennox at last.

"Will…" Chun started, faintly shaking her head.

Graham cut her off. "Who are 'they,' exactly?" He gestured at the not-cars and shot Chun a disapproving look, casting the same expression briefly to the others. He hoped they understood – Lennox didn't need them tearing him down on accusations about being emotionally compromised right at that moment.

"Jazz and Bumblebee," Lennox said after a pause. When the not-cars dimly flashed their lights and swiped their windshield wipers at the mention, everyone either jumped or tensed. Lennox shot the Cybertronians an admonishing look over his shoulder; Jazz didn't respond, and Bumblebee sheepishly flickered his headlights. "I think you can guess which is which."

That, at least, worked a subdued snort out of Jordan. "Do they talk?"

"Yes," was Lennox's quick answer. With a slight frown, he said, "We told them not to unless you asked first, but the kids and them have a lot to say."

Behind him, Sam ducked his head self-consciously and Mikaela resorted to her nervous habit of drumming her fingers.

"And… changing, transforming? They transform too?" Chun hazarded. She'd only ever seen them as cars, and the silver one had been there for quite a while now. The idea that a mech could stay folded up like that for so long didn't seem possible.

"Yes. Same ground rule of not provoking anyone, though," agreed Lennox.

Heavy silence.

"Well?" said Howard after a rough exhale. "They gonna change so we can have ourselves a little chat? You could have gathered us anywhere else, and left them out of the picture entirely, if you planned on telling us this all by yourself."

"Yeah," Graham agreed suddenly. Face and voice firm, he said, "I want to see them – the actual them."

Neither Lennox nor his team had expected the others to want the mechs in their natural forms so quickly. But, Sam and Mikaela simply shrugged at him. "Fine. Just try and keep yourselves under control, alright? Last thing we need are bullets ricocheting around in here…" He glanced around at everyone, making sure he got a nod of agreement from everyone while the teens and his team backed away to give the ex-Autobots room. After four confirming nods, his attention swept to the Cybertronians. "Whenever you're ready."

Jazz moved first, his Earthen disguise shattering even as he rolled a few feet forward and away from Bumblebee; the latter lagged only by a second or two, and like Jazz, transformed even as he put distance between his former comrade and himself. The flurry of so many moving parts must have made it hard for any of the other four patrol leaders to focus, because before anyone knew it, there were two mechs standing in the warehouse, facing three partially-open-mouthed gapes and one nearly-blank face (courtesy of Howard).

Bumblebee immediately crouched, although whether that was more because of his discomfort at the staring or because he wanted to seem less threatening was anybody's guess. Beside him, Jazz was clearly resisting the urge to wave – settling instead on smiling and wiggling a few fingers – and was doing his best to wait for someone else to break the tension for once, like Lennox had requested ahead of time.

"You brought these in past security," breathed Chun. When Bee and Jazz both looked at her, she did her best not to flinch, and instead quickly shot her stunned eyes towards Lennox.

"And the safe point's still standing," Lennox agreed.

"Technically, this one's been here for over a month now," added Togg, gesturing vaguely at Jazz (who looked only slightly miffed that he'd only earned the title of 'this one' after the past few days). "Actually," the man went on, turning to the silver mech, "You never did tell us _exactly_ how long you've been on planet."

Jazz pulled his head back. "Since I touched down?" He looked contemplative. "Roundin' a teeny bit, about two months, three weeks. A good bit a' time there was spent tryin' ta even _find_ humans, and most a' it went into breakin' those fragging' firewalls our mutual enemies rigged the place with."

Nodding, Togg turned back to the others.

Sam and Mikaela were pretty sure they caught a satisfied smirk on his face. They understood why a moment later when, the ice apparently broken, Howard straightened.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, perfectly straight-faced.

Bumblebee's doorwings flexed involuntarily when he made to answer, but he found himself cut off.

"The long and short of it is this: mechs come from some planet that's a bajillion years old, there's been this war dividing them for a long freaking time, pretty recently they called a ceasefire, and the 'bots you see here used to be on one side of that war, while the ones who've been raining unholy terror on Earth are from the other side." Lennox paused for a second, as if realizing something. Which, evidently, he had, because he mumbled, "Huh. 'Bots – Autobots. How about that." Then he shook his head.

"Apparently, the baddies are a bunch of liars, too, 'cause they left more than half their population in the dark on the teeny tiny fact that we're sentient," he went on, "so in order to make the best of our resources, they've been destroying all the proof they come across that points to us being sentient, and selling us into domestication."

The pause that followed was broken by Jordan hesitantly asking, "So you're saying… that they take people to…?"

"To turn them into Christmas puppies, yeah," Lennox confirmed.

That phrasing confused Bumblebee, who looked concernedly at his humans. Mikaela shrugged and waved a hand dismissively, and Sam told him, "Don't worry about it."

Their side-interaction earned a few blinks.

"Whether you thought it was the truth or not, what possessed you not to take this up with us or the higher-ups the moment you found out?" asked Graham, yet without any accusing bite. He gave the mechs appraising looks, but ultimately turned his seemingly confident gaze back to Lennox (no one knew whether he was honestly that calm, or just that good at faking it).

"Because I know what would've happened if I went into the bureaucracy of it completely blind," Lennox answered simply. "Once the kids got us to stop shooting the first time, I didn't want to start again before we knew a thing or two – a chance we'd never get if this was turned over to the sector heads or settlement head right from the get-go." Then, almost warningly, "I'm still sort of trusting you guys not to run off and tell everyone unless there's a good reason to."

"You mean a better reason than the fact that, oh, I don't know, there's _two mechs_ sitting in this warehouse?" Howard asked. "Putting aside the security of this specific safe point, if two mechs can fool safety scanners, then there's more out there who can. Who's to say the bad ones can't, if there's even such thing as good mechs and bad mechs? Isn't that something that _someone_ should be told about?"

Jazz spoke up again. "Bee an' I are workin' on that." He gestured weakly at the table with the scanner. "The mods for foolin' the scanners ya' got rigged up aren't as common as you're probably thinkin' they are, but you're right, there's gotta be ex-Cons here with 'em."

"Ex-cons? Your ex-cons are doing this to us? Are you serious?" said an utterly disbelieving Chun.

Surprisingly, it was Bumblebee who was the first to correct, "Not ex-convicts, ex-Decepticons. Although I suppose most of the connotations you're probably coming up with apply aptly enough."

"And, uh, another pretty serious question here," Howard prefaced. "You said they know where Annabelle is. How does something like _that _happen?"

Here, Lennox grimaced. "I'm not entirely sure. Before you ask, yes, I realize how contrived that must sound – coincidences like that don't happen in real life, only orchestrated plans do – but I believe them. They have a picture of her, they sent a message just the other night… I don't know. I don't know," he admitted twice. "That's why I'm telling you this now, and not three days ago."

No one needed him to explain his reasoning.

"We all know the stories about hunters worming into safe points like this – we all know how those stories end. And, I'm pretty sure we all have that sinking sense of dread that this, right now, looks exactly like how those stories begin," the captain acknowledged. "There isn't anything concrete to back this up – and I know how against protocol it is – but I think we at least need to give them a chance. There's a lot more to explain about this, and I'm gonna step back and just let them answer your question," he said, his tone promising that it would be explained momentarily, "but I'd like to know that you don't all plan on running off and telling everyone without due cause. More due cause than the fact that they're here," Lennox amended when Jordan and Howard gave him a look.

The implied question hung in the air. Glances were exchanged amongst the four newly initiated leaders, more between the leaders and Lennox and Lennox's crew, a few between them and the teens, and one or two wary looks thrown the mechs' way.

"Bumblebee and Jazz, huh?" Graham said at length, eyeing the mechs.

"Yes, sir," said Bee.

"That'd be my lovely name," confirmed Jazz.

They stared silently for several seconds. Then, the English soldier gave the tiniest of smirks. "It's kind of strange that you picked 'Jazz.'"

The mech cocked his head. "How do ya figure?" His genuine curiosity was unmistakable.

Graham's amiable, semi-confident smirk grew wider, but not less hesitant. "If you were looking at musical names, I would've put my money on Techno or Heavy Metal."

In the silence that followed, no one knew how to react.

Then, just as Graham was beginning to wonder if he'd misjudged the situation, Jazz laughed. Or, at first he made a very strange grinding sound, and then he resorted to a few distinct chuckles. This prompted Bumblebee to raise his doorwings with otherwise silent merriment, and made Mikaela and Sam both smile.

"I think I can see why ya'd be inclined to say that," Jazz spoke cheerily, "but I also feel obliged t' say that ya shouldn't be makin' assumptions based on appearances. You got a sayin', don't ya? 'Don't judge a book by its cover'? In this case, a 'Bot? Jazz is _way_ more my style."

Howard eyed the two mechs before announcing, "I don't know how standard of a practice it is for you guys to try and 'charm' yourself into your enemy's good graces, but if that's a military tactic, it seems like you've done your studying."

There was a blankness to the man's tone that made it hard to tell whether he meant to imply that the 'charming' was working on him, or simply that he thought he was 'on to them.'

Given the ambiguity, Jazz shrugged. "Can't tell if that's a compliment or an insult. So, I'm gonna act like it's a compliment. I prefer those."

Howard raised an eyebrow as if to sarcastically say, 'Yeah? I couldn't tell.'

Chun coughed. "Not that I didn't find Lennox's summary enlightening," she said with all sincerity, "but do you think we could backtrack a minute and have you tell us what the story really is?" her gaze flitted between the two Cybertronians. "No offense."

At the question, Sam and Mikaela visibly made themselves comfortable – exaggeratedly so. Bumblebee spared them an amused look.

"Sure," the scout said, though he paused while Lennox and his men followed the teens' lead and found places to sit. For what felt like the millionth time, he began, "See, a long time ago, Cybertronians went to war over a bunch of different issues, but most of it boiled down to different opinions on the value of organic life…"

* * *

"_**You'd think they thought we were systems-glitched with day-passes,**_" the black and purple Seeker announced. Instead of speaking with irritation, however, there was a hint of pride and delight in the declaration.

Thundercracker didn't even stop walking. He barely gave Skywarp a sideways glance – one look at his partner's optics, scanning the street as though looking for a hapless 'bot to toy with, was enough – before dryly asking, "_**And who do you mean by 'they,' exactly?**_"

Right as he spoke, a blue-gazed mech stepped out of a building on their left. Skywarp grinned and waved energetically at the stranger. The stranger confusedly pulled his head in, and hesitantly raised a hand, giving it a few feeble shakes left and right, as though he didn't know whether he should wave back. This made Skywarp grin more. Thundercracker, on the other hand, vented tiredly and rolled his optics.

"_**Everyone.**_"

He vented again. "_**Two things: one, I hardly think that assessment is fair. Most of the mechs we've come across have been perfectly fine with us. Two, any mechs who've thought that about you – let's not include me in that, okay? – clearly have good reason.**_"

The darker ex-Decepticon looked over sharply. "_**Hmm? 'Clearly?' What are you trying to say?**_"

Third time was the charm. Thundercracker released a final vent of air. "_**We've only recently been granted access to Praxus – most 'bots are probably confused enough to see us here. Then you go and do things like that to them. How do you **_**expect**_** them to look at you?**_"

"_**Do things like what?**_"

"_**You've got to be kidding me,**_" said Thundercracker, finally looking at his trinemate dead-on. Even then, though, he couldn't be certain whether Skywarp's question was serious. Just to be on the safe side, he elaborated (his voice traitorously inflected a hint of amusement), "_**Wave at them like they're your long-lost friends from before the war. Stare at everyone until you make them uncomfortable. Flirt with ex-Autobot femmes – badly, might I add. Pit, flirt with ex-Autobots **_**period.**_** You know, it took you half a breem to make Fireflight look like he wanted to have you committed – that's probably longer than I would've lasted in his position.**_"

"_**Well, he did have a nice set of wings,**_" Skywarp said defensively. Then he smirked, picturing the lone ex-Aerialbot's lovely white and red wings.

Okay, thought Thundercracker objectively, that was true. Skywarp was an idiot, but he wasn't wrong. That mech _had _sported a fair set of wings. But, wings were meant for flying, and, "_**He can't even use them properly – or do you not remember how horrible his flying was?**_" Pretty much every memory he had of that ex-Autobot was of him fragging up flight maneuvers.

"_**Yeah, but they're still pretty! Anyway, he might've gotten better since we last saw him. And either way, even you have to admit they looked perfect for grabbing and –!**_"

"_**Do you WANT to get us banned from this city?**_" the Seeker asked. They turned another street, and luckily, Skywarp didn't bother pausing in the conversation to confuse the pair of 'bots that passed them. "_**Harassing Prime's old subordinates is a pretty surefire way to make sure we're never allowed back in Praxus.**_"

"_**Oh, come on! What's the point if you can't have a little fun?**_" insisted Skywarp. "_**The worst that could've happened was a rejection. The best that could've happened was getting a new berthmate for the cycle. You're always telling me to think things through – the benefits clearly outweighed the risks.**_"

Although Thundercracker had hoped to stop sigh-venting after three exhales, he found himself doing so again. "_**I'd be impressed if you hadn't misjudged. The worst that could've happened wasn't a rejection – it was a write-up, a punch to the face, or both.**_"

Skywarp gave an annoyingly infantile pout. They walked in silence for several paces before Thundercracker broke down and gave in.

"_**Maybe you should stick to propositioning retired Decepticons from now on, and give the former Autobots a break,**_" he attempted to compromise.

That earned him a laugh, followed quickly by a punch to his arm and Skywarp leaning in suggestively. "_**See – you'd be as fine with picking someone up as I would, wouldn't you? It's not my fault the 'Bots seem like way more 'exotic' fare. Plus, they **_**are**_** fun to get a rise out of.**_" When his trinemate gave him a pointed look, he mollified, "_**I promise I won't get us kicked out of the city.**_"

"_**Or separated,**_" added Thundercracker, almost in an undertone. "_**They're just looking for an excuse to split us up. As long as you don't give them–**_"

"_**What the frag is that?**_"

Skywarp's rough interjection made Thundercracker halt. Although 'Warp was pointing, Thundercracker didn't need the gesture; his optics caught quickly on a small figure darting straight for a pillar near the entranceway of a building (an information center, if the ex-Con wasn't mistaken).

The creature was small, clothed in bluish-gray, with yellowish hair. It was exceedingly organic. What it was doing out there was anyone's guess, since a cursory scan confirmed that there was no one else on the street at the moment.

"_**Was that what I think it was?**_" Skywarp managed in utter bewilderment.

Thundercracker didn't even have to answer. Skywarp had barely asked when the creature decided to poke its head out from behind the column and stare at them.

They stared right back.

* * *

The first time he'd done something for Optimus Prime, Miles had been outfitted with something meant to cloud his biosignature as well as a recording device. Also, something startlingly reminiscent of fluffy footie pajamas. The fashion designer behind that fascinating garment – a smallish, weird-as-hell mech named Perceptor – claimed that it was designed to minimize any sound made.

Personally, Miles thought it had a secret second function and doubled as a defensive garment. The way he saw it, he'd have ample time to run away while his foes laughed their mechanical butts off.

That had been an easy job. All he'd had to do was sneak around a few vents and then sit silently while some mechs spoke to one another. Plus, he'd been assured that there were several other footie-pajama'ed human tape recorders doing the same thing in different places, so Miles had had the comfort of invisible camaraderie.

The second job took place in what was, apparently, the alien capitol city. It involved another person, getting an ID chip (which the mechs had been hesitant to ask about, but which Miles was all for getting), and a very annoyed Prowl. It had been more nerve-wracking than the first assignment, to be fair, but Miles didn't think it warranted Prowl's level of apprehension (Miles had told the strategist that his overprotectiveness was adorable, although said strategist adamantly maintained that he was only exhibiting 'reasonable concern for his well-being').

Some blonde chick named Carly – who Miles, in a surprised stupor, had called "hot" the moment he saw her, only to have both Prowl and Perceptor tell him that she was precisely the temperature she should be – had gone with him. They were left at a type of daycare, which made more than enough sense given that both Prowl and Perceptor were supposedly there on business. At the pet-sitting place, they'd done some serious interviewing with the other humans – all inconspicuously, of course, so that the mechs watching over them (one Blue and one Red) didn't get suspicious.

This? The thing he was waiting to do as he sat tensely behind a pile of what seemed to be garbage? This was different.

He and Prowl had gone to a place called Praxus, which Prowl had been unusually distraught about. Apparently the mech had grown up there or something, and at one point it had pretty much been leveled – Prowl hadn't been all that clear, so Miles wasn't certain.

There were, Prime said, two mechs of particular interest to him that would be there.

Both were Reds.

Prowl hadn't been all that pleased about the proposal of direct, largely unmonitored interaction between the Reds and Miles, especially when Optimus explained who it was he was hoping to get a measure of: two Reds, one notable for purple on his frame and the other notable for blue, named Skywarp and Thundercracker. Both were fliers, apparently, although the ex-Autobots had called them something other than 'fliers' – Seekers, maybe? Miles couldn't remember.

After Prowl had had his perfectly dignified little fit, and after Miles had taken a deep breath and calmed himself, the teen announced that he'd be happy to go through with it. Well, maybe not in those exact words. Still, the point was that he'd agreed to do this despite some hesitancy, because he didn't think that the ex-Bots were going to put him in any overly dangerous situations right off the bat.

Now, however, he had some doubt. He'd been waiting for the pair of ex-Decepticons to wander this way for some time now, and when they finally did show up – turning onto the street with a flurry of speech – he felt himself go somewhat numb.

Miles stared at the two sizeable red-gazed mechs and began to question his resolve. Thus far, he hadn't been asked to interact with any mechs. He'd been wary enough about the request right from the beginning (Prowl still hadn't been okay with it last he checked, and Miles imagined that the stoic 'bot was fretting somewhere even at that moment), and the sheer size of these two in person didn't help to settle any fears.

Just like Prime had said, one was mostly black with large purple swaths sweeping across his broad-backed (winged?) frame, along with gray and silver internals appearing sparingly. The other – whose body was similar enough that Miles might have thought them twins – was mostly blue with accents of black, deep gray, and white, also with silvery internals. Both had the exact same shade of piercingly red optics.

They exuded familiarity with one another. The way they walked, the way the purplish one hit and bumped the other without getting reprimanded for it, and the way they gestured as they spoke (even though the gestures and the speech were lost on him) made it obvious that they had a history together.

In a way, it reminded Miles of him and Sam… and that was the only reason he managed to climb to his feet and prepare for his dash for the stairs of a nearby building.

The mechs grew steadily closer and closer, and Miles felt his pulse pick up in preparation, until they were almost three-quarters of the way down the street, and then…!

He made his move. Speedily and low to the ground – refusing to acknowledge the pair of Cybertronians – he hastened across the street to hide behind a decorative pillar. Miles was just stepping behind the silver-white column when he heard the exclamation; one mech said something short and rough, and then both sets of feet stopped moving.

First step completed. He'd been spotted. To confirm, he poked his head around the column. Miles tried not to recoil when he saw both imposing figures staring at him.

None of the three was willing to make the next move for some time. In the end, it was Black-and-Purple – who Miles was pretty sure was the one they'd called Skywarp, which left Blue-and-Black to be Thundercracker by default – who took a trepid step nearer.

Playing the role of so many a squirrel that he'd chased as a child – oh, who was he kidding? That he'd chased days before leaving Tranquility – Miles darted for the next column to hide behind and again peeked out hesitantly around it.

That got a reaction from the mechs. Both gave hushed exclamations, but only Thundercracker bent down; Miles reflexively went to duck away, although he managed to stop himself. The urge to bolt continued to strengthen as Skywarp came in close to his friend and made as if to get even closer to Miles, but the second mech growled something and extended a hand to block any attempts to get near the human.

Miles stared, trying to comprehend.

After a short while, the blue mech began enticing him with a coaxing hand: two claw-like yet dulled fingertips rubbed together while an index finger beckoned, set to the background noise of a low and thundering rumble that must have been the mech's version of a coo or purr. Briefly, Miles wondered if that was where the mech's name had come from, and then he decided that it was highly unlikely that a mech would be named after his purring abilities.

Against his instincts, the blonde teen made his way towards the pair of unfamiliar mechs, not even having to fake the caution and hesitance in his stance and pace.

* * *

"_**What if I…?**_"

"_**Stop,**_" Thundercracker warned. The human twitched at the purplish mech's step forward, and Thundercracker immediately pictured the wayward creature darting off. He didn't want the thing running around dehydrating and starving (seriously – the last place an organic like a human wanted to get stranded was on an abiotic world), but he also didn't know if he cared enough to drop his dignity and go chasing after a human if it fled.

"_**But... but it's a human!**_" protested Skywarp.

Thundercracker shot him a look. "_**I can see that. Don't approach it, or you'll only make it run away quicker.**_"

It looked clean enough, however. Perhaps it was an escaped pet? If that was the case, maybe it could be enticed forward.

Thundercracker eased into a crouch and dropped both hands to the ground, ignoring Skywarp's questioning clicks and shuffling. He braced himself lightly on several fingers and extended the other arm, imitating the soothing lull once used to calm sparklings as he brushed his fingers invitingly together.

"_**Do you honestly think that's gonna convince it to…? Slag, it's really working!**_" Skywarp said, first incredulous and then excited. The human was actually inching out from its shelter, making its way towards them one cautious step at a time.

The closer it got, the more excited Skywarp became. Every step seemed to make his internals whir faster, until it was only a few arms lengths away, and he thought he was going to explode. The step he took forward was completely involuntary. Regardless, his absentmindedness was quickly reprimanded.

"_**Primus, 'Warp, back off. The thing's scared; it doesn't need you crowding it,**_" said Thundercracker, holding his arm out and making sure his wingmate got the message about not scaring the human into fleeing. The creature was more than ready to bolt, and looked warily between the pair of them. When Skywarp crouched behind his partner, the yellow-haired human tensed, and for a moment Thundercracker feared it was finally going to sprint away.

"_**Hey there, human,**_" he rumbled, trying to shove his wingmate out of his mind to focus on the human and make the best of this second chance they'd been given. Thundercracker continued to beckon with a finger, but made no attempt to move his hand closer to the alien. "_**Did you lose your owner? That's right, just come over here…**_" When the human took a few more steps, the ex-Decepticon grinned in triumph.

The closer the human became, the more both mechs believed it was male. Skywarp chirruped next to him, "_**What makes you think he has an owner? He doesn't have any ID bands.**_"

Said human hesitated and stared at Skywarp.

/ _**Stray humans are rare,**_ / the blue mech said over their comm., hoping not to alarm the human any further, and hoping Skywarp would get the hint. / _**And look at how groomed he is. The fact that he's even coming over suggests he's familiar with mechs. Ergo, 'Warp, he's not feral. **_/

/ _**But he's taking his sweet time, ain't he?**_/ countered Skywarp.

/ _**I'd be wary about coming near your ugly mug, too, **_/ Thundercracker taunted, but his spark wasn't really in the jest. Neither, for that matter, was his focus. The human was growing ever closer… "_**Just a little more…**_"

Once he was within grasp, Thundercracker steadily began to shift his hand into a grabbing position. Each movement was slow and measured and gave the organic every chance to show his discomfort (although, at this point, the ex-Con was pretty sure he'd be able to snatch the human up even should he decide to bolt at the last second).

Thankfully, the human never bolted. Instead, he merely stiffened a little when large fingers curled around him, and inhaled sharply when a second hand lowered to scoop him up.

"_**There we have it,**_" said Thundercracker victoriously. He made sure the human was secure before standing. "_**He's pretty tense… wonder why he'd come over here if he was so scared?**_"

"_**Desperation?**_" Skywarp chimed thoughtfully. First he gave Thundercracker a shrug, and then turned his attention to staring at the wayward human.

Thundercracker studied the alien in his hands, for once thankful that Skywarp could be a distracting menace. It allowed him to study his fill, noting the clean protective garments, the groomed cranial hair, the lack of visible injuries, and the disappointing lack of any identification marker.

"_**What's Praxus's bulletin frequency, do you know?**_" queried Thundercracker, earning an upside-down stare from the human. Not that it would be difficult to sort quickly through the airwaves to locate it, but…

"_**Yeah, I know it – and I just checked. There aren't any notifications about missing humans,**_" Skywarp informed him. "_**Just a reminder to exhaust ID chips first. Um, did we exhaust ID chips?**_"

Thundercracker, frowning, turned to Skywarp. "_**I forgot about those.**_"

"_**Me, too. I don't remember the viewer code for those, though,**_" Skywarp warned.

With a wave, the blue flier dismissed, "_**That's okay – I do. Here, I'll activate it over a bond signal so you can read, too,**_" with a roll of his optics at the way Skywarp deflated when he thought he would be barred from accessing the chip.

The two mechs' signals aligned on a shared frequency, and then Thundercracker turned his attention to the human. A quick scan revealed that, yes, the creature had a chip, and moments later, the information was flitting through their processors: designation, store of purchase (oddly, left blank), owner's address, and owner's name…?

"_**Prowl?**_" they both spoke at once.

Skywarp blinked. "_**As in, used-to-be-the-Autobot-second-in-command? **_**That **_**Prowl?**_"

Optics narrow in thought (and was he just imagining things, or did that make the human more nervous?), Thundercracker wracked his memory banks. "_**I don't know any other Prowls out there. The mech was Praxian, too – sort of makes sense he'd be in Praxus.**_"

"_**He doesn't live here,**_" Skywarp refuted. "_**Last I checked he lived in one of the colonies. Verita… Verita Pax? I think that's what it was called.**_"

"_**Well, then, maybe he moved. Or maybe he's just visiting. A mech's entitled to travel once in a while. I know I'll be back in Vos every chance I get once it's livable again,**_" he reasoned. Surely the ex-Autobot SIC had earned a vacation or two, although chances were that if this human's Prowl and the ex-Autobot Prowl were the same mechs, the 'bot was here for business.

Actually, that might even explain why there were no missing human notifications. Prowl was probably so busy that he hadn't noticed his human was missing yet. Especially if the human – Quirk, the chip supplied – had been lodged at a daycare or something, it was feasible that no one had noticed his absence.

"_**Are you gonna message him, or am I?**_" asked Skywarp, reaching out a talon of a finger and rubbing the human's head fluff.

"_**I got it,**_" Thundercracker answered quickly. Not giving his wingmate any more time to potentially open a channel and tick the ex-Autobot off, Thundercracker opened his communications and accessed the personal frequency listed on the ID chip. He pinged with a sense of urgency as well, hoping that would ensure an answer in spite of the no doubt suspicious identification of his own unfamiliar frequency.

Whether it was the urgent pinging or not, there was an answer in mere moments.

/ _**You are comming one of Prime's liaisons, and head of mediation, strategic planning, and human affairs in Verita Pax, Prowl. Who is this? **_/ was the clipped response.

/ _**Thundercracker,**_ / the Seeker said, blinking.

There was a distinctive pause. / _**Yes? What can I do for you? **_/

/ _**Nothing,**_ / he said plainly. And, while Thundercracker definitely detected suspicion in the absent mech's mental tone, he didn't blame him. / _**Skywarp and I are visiting Praxus right now, and we found a human whose tag says he's yours. Name's 'Quirk.' **_/

The second pause didn't last nearly as long. / _**I am in Praxus on business; Quirk was entrusted to a temporary caregiver. His caregiver did not inform me he had gotten out. **_/

/ _**We figured, since there's no notice posted about him yet. How long until you can come get him?**_ /

/ _**Where are you? **_/

Thundercracker looked needlessly around. /_** We were heading to an energon café. Do you know where Hydraulic's is? **_/

/ _**Yes.**_ /

/ _**We'll go there and stay until you arrive, **_/ said Thundercracker.

This time the pause was contemplative. / _**The meeting I am in will end shortly. It will take me approximately five breems to reach that location. **_/

It was Thundercracker's turn to pause, though only to divert his attention to yanking the human away from Skywarp, who was now making grabs at him. / _**We'll be there. **_/

/ _**Very well. Thank you for notifying me, **_/ Prowl said.

The line was closed before the ex-Con could transmit a 'you're welcome.'

Thundercracker, taken aback, blinked. "_**That was rather rude.**_"

"_**He cut the channel on you?**_" asked Skywarp.

"_**Yes.**_"

The purple mech snickered, and not entirely pleasantly. "_**He probably thinks we're gonna do something horrible to his human. Now, can I hold him?**_" He'd tired of trying to pry the human away.

One glance at the nervous human convinced Thundercracker that, "_**No, I'm not letting you hold him. You probably **_**will **_**do something horrible to him.**_"

"_**That's a low blow,**_" Skywarp said.

"_**Play with him when we get to the café,**_" returned Thundercracker, starting to walk in demonstration.

Skywarp quickly followed after, taking several double strides to sidle up next to his partner again.

As if to prove Thundercracker wrong, Skywarp remained perfectly silent and well behaved for the breem it took to get to the eatery. He didn't once make another motion towards Quirk, although he did send the human several covert and not-so-covert glances.

Hydraulic's was another story. The very instant they stepped through the doorway, Skywarp said, "_**I can't believe we found Prowl's human! Can you imagine what Megatron would say about two of the Command Trine babysitting the Autobot SIC's human?**_"

All at once, Thundercracker started laughing (perhaps because he now knew for a fact that Skywarp had been ready to burst with the comment for over a breem now). "_**I imagine the first thing he'd say would be along the lines of, 'What the frag is that disgusting organic you've found?' Probably something about the Autobots having a filthy organic infestation shortly afterwards, followed by a prompt squishing of our new little buddy. That, or a plot for ransoming him.**_"

Skywarp considered that while they situated themselves at an empty table. Quirk was placed gently on the tabletop, where he looked suddenly pathetic in Thundercracker's humble opinion. The latter felt bad for a moment that there wouldn't be any food to give the alien, or any properly sized containers to give him water.

"_**Sounds about right,**_" the purple mech conceded. "_**Bet Megatron's spitting sparks in the Well.**_"

Thundercracker gave a snorting "_**tch**_" in agreement, then left to get two cubes of energon. Once he was unattended, Skywarp turned triumphantly towards the human, who leaned away under the scrutiny.

"_**Break for freedom, huh, squishy?**_" asked 'Warp conversationally. He inched his hand out, walking his fingers across the table until he finally reached out and poked Quirk. The human reflexively gave him a tiny swat. "_**Too bad. Well, not too bad, I guess. It can't be easy to survive on an inorganic planet when you're an organic; it's a good thing TC and I saw you.**_" Another poke, and another swat. Skywarp grinned and purposefully tousled the human's hair, petting roughly yet still affectionately.

"_**What are you doing now?**_" interrupted Thundercracker, reappearing with two cubes.

Stopping to grab a cube, Skywarp eyed the now-disheveled alien. "_**Playing. He wasn't putting up an actual fight, so I figure he must've liked it.**_"

Thundercracker resisted the urge to snort. While the yellow-haired human didn't look all that upset, he certainly didn't look pleased. The blue mech took his seat, and for a few moments, the pair of ex-Decepticons refueled under the curious gaze of Quirk.

At length, Skywarp asked in something of a whine, "_**Why don't we have a human?**_"

"_**Plenty of reasons,**_" was the quick answer.

This time the whine was stronger – enough so to make Quirk blink in confusion. "_**I want one – let's get one. No, let's get two – one for me and one for you, and that way they could be friends!**_"

"_**Oh no, 'Warp. You're barely mature enough to take care of yourself, let alone a helpless organic.**_"

Skywarp frowned, although playfully. "_**What's with the personal attacks today? Did I kick you during recharge or something?**_"

"_**You're just being stupider than normal is all,**_" Thundercracker replied with a smirk.

They continued to sip energon quietly for a bit. It was clear that Skywarp wanted to be doing all sorts of things with Quirk, who was just sitting there awkwardly, but that even the prankster realized it was unwise to risk setting the human off when Prowl would be there shortly to collect him. Thundercracker was about to applaud his partner's restraint… and then he halted, noticing the strange expression on Skywarp's face. He couldn't help but grow uneasy.

"_**What? What is it?**_"

"_**You know,**_" Skywarp began tentatively, possibly sensing that he was about to provoke a negative reaction, "_**humans always make me think of 'Screamer.**_"

The predominantly blue mech stiffened; Quirk picked up on it and instantly tensed as well. Realizing that he was the cause, Thundercracker forced himself to relax his frame. He could not, however, mask the tension in his voice. "_**I'm sure they do.**_" And he w_as_ sure. Skywarp almost always got a distant look when humans passed by. Initially Thundercracker had thought that was because Skywarp really wanted one, but in time, he realized it was because of a certain conspiracy theory regarding their absent trinemate and the humans' native planet…

"_**Don't you wonder sometimes? You said you didn't, but don't you have to? Whether the rumors are true, I mean.**_"

"_**I don't care,**_" Thundercracker shot down. He tried to distract himself by petting the unsettled human. "_**No matter how many times you ask, my answer's not going to change. He's gone – as good as dead.**_"

"_**But the rumors!**_" insisted Skywarp. Though he wasn't a huge fan of the ex-Air Commander at the moment, he didn't understand the unspoken tension his remaining trinemate always felt when Starscream was brought up. "_**Maybe he's still alive somewhere, and–!**_"

Thundercracker growled, making both Skywarp and Quirk pull away from him. "_**And all that would mean is that he abandoned us. That would mean he's sitting somewhere, purposefully blocking our bond and leaving us to fend for ourselves while worrying about him, like some slagging…**_" He stopped and sighed. "_**I don't want to see him again, I don't want to think about it again, and I don't want to talk about it, 'Warp. I mean it.**_"

"…_**Fine,**_" Skywarp struggled to say at length. Like Thundercracker, he looked for distraction in the human, already regretting bringing Starscream up. First, he tried to get Quirk to react to a series of laser lights projected across the table surface, but when the only reaction seemed to be that of confusion and disbelief rather than excitement or playfulness, he instead worked on trying to coax the Earthling closer by waggling his fingers on the table.

This futile game went on for a full two and a half breems, with Skywarp making odd observations and comments here and there ("_**I wonder if they can feel their hair growing,**_" "_**What do you think they'd do if we took them flying,**_" "_**I wonder how well he'd hold up warping with me,**_", "_**Do you think we could breed them to have purple bodies?**_" and the like).

Discounting battles and pranks, Thundercracker was pretty sure it was the most attention and patience the mech had paid to a single task probably in his whole life. In fact, Skywarp was still giving it his all (even though all he'd managed to do was plant a permanent teeth-baring on the human's face, whatever that meant) when the storefront beeped at the entrance of a new customer.

The two ex-Cons looked up. Had they been looking, they would've seen Quirk spin around, too.

A black and white mech came stiffly through the front door, practically oozing tension and single-mindedness.

"_**Hey,**_" Skywarp called out.

In the middle of scanning the shop, the mech spun.

It was the Prowl they remembered, alright. He was distinctly apprehensive as he approached them, attention more than obviously focused on trying to ascertain the condition his human was in. Funnily enough, Quirk more or less mimicked his owner's actions, staring intently at the newcomer in unmistakable recognition.

"_**We don't know how long he's been out, but as far as Skywarp and I can tell, he's not injured or anything,**_" said Thundercracker in place of a greeting, because it seemed prudent to allay the mech's worries before anything else. He sat straighter as Prowl drew up in front of their table.

Prowl met the blue Seeker's optics. "_**Thank you,**_" he said plainly, neither overly pleasant nor unpleasant. If anything, the ex-Bot looked like he was trying to figure the two fliers out… which made Thundercracker shift uncomfortably and give an incredulous expression. Prowl carefully took Quirk into his hands and held him close. "_**You did not have to keep him with you, nor did you have to contact me. I appreciate the courtesy.**_"

"_**Courtesy?**_" repeated Skywarp, both confused and more than a little offended.

"_**I think what Skywarp means,**_" Thundercracker said testily, shooting his wingmate a warning look to calm down, "_**is that it's a little disappointing that you'd think we'd leave a creature to starve, or knowingly keep someone else's human.**_"

There were no outward signs that Prowl felt guilty about implying such. He merely tightened his hold on Quirk, and paused for one long, thoughtful moment before responding, "_**I will admit that perhaps your most recent actions would have been more logical to base my assumptions on.**_" Then, he nodded once. The motion was slight and strange, but unmistakably approving.

Fully understanding – and not wanting a hot-headed Skywarp to jump in – Thundercracker acquiesced, "_**I see where you might have gotten that first impression. For better or worse, we've changed since our trine's foremost member up and deserted us. For better, I hope,**_" he said, with only the barest hint of remorse. The open admission seemed to surprise Prowl, if the tiny flaring of his sensory panels was any indication. "_**You know, if you don't have anywhere to be right away, 'Warp and I wouldn't mind sharing a cube of energon with you.**_"

That had an even greater reaction. Prowl visibly drew back. Thoughts were obviously swirling in his processors (and aw, wasn't it cute that Quirk looked worried?).

"_**I would not wish to intrude,**_" he said at length.

"_**Nonsense. Seekers like doing things in threes; have a seat,**_" insisted Thundercracker, actually a tad giddy at the prospect of being able to endear their trio-turned-duo to a mech as close to Prime as this – another opportunity to build those bridges and those chances for redemption and privileges. Next to him, Skywarp also seemed eager to share a conversation, although the gleam in his optics suggested the eagerness stemmed from a very different – and very futile – motivation, thought Thundercracker with an optic roll.

Prowl, to their surprise, immediately relented. Any other time, and they might have thought persuading him had been too easy. "_**Very well. I have several more breems before I have anything scheduled.**_"

With that, Quirk was set back onto the table to the human's clear confusion, and Prowl took a seat.

The only perfectly shared thought at that table was that the following conversation – whatever it might be – was bound to be memorable.

* * *

_How much longer could he hope to keep this quiet?_

Optimus found this question more pressing than ever before.

He had decoded Jazz's transmission two cycles prior, and, having spent a cycle encoding it, finally sent his reply. Neither the incoming nor outgoing transmission had been easy on his processors. The former had borne promising news about the advancements Bumblebee and Jazz were making with the local humans, even if their progress was only small-scale at the moment. Intermixed, however, was the startling coincidence that, of the reported billions of humans that dwelled on Earth, one of the ones they encountered was the sire of Ironhide's human youngling.

It would have been quite the coincidence, thought Prime, if he was inclined to believe in such things as coincidences. His eons of experience led him to believe that very little, if anything, was ever a coincidence.

Ironhide had not reacted all that favorably to the news, and had demanded to know what the next step was.

Given the urgency Jazz placed on that portion of the message, there was really only one step that could possibly be taken…

Sending Ironhide to Earth – and by extension, Ratchet, since the medic was one of the only ones besides himself who could keep the black mech temperate and manageable no matter the situation – was bound to raise some suspicions.

But, Optimus reflected, the time for worrying about that was likely up.

His resolve strengthened the more he thought about it, regardless of his many lingering worries: it would not be long before Ratchet and Ironhide conceded to his request and joined Jazz and Bumblebee on Earth, and should Swindle or another take issue with it, he would have to deal with the repercussions when they came.

And he _would_ deal with them, swiftly and firmly. No matter the state of the disbanded factions, he would be an Autobot at spark until the day he offlined, and his spark-deep Autobot morals would scarcely let him do otherwise, even if he'd wanted to.

Perhaps it was time to have a talk with the head of the human trade one-on-one.

* * *

**A.N.**

Both this story and my life have sort of been fighting me lately. A good part of that is due to my scholar program 'tactically' piling on its added work 'before' finals (aka, in the time period that final projects and papers – not the tests themselves – are being handed out, which in turn means that I'm never given any break from my workload right up through the finals themselves, much to my chagrin).

But, like I always say, never fear; I have not died, and updates will always be forthcoming. As soon as both time and inspiration allow, there will always be a next chapter.

Hopefully some of the grander messages imbedded in the Thundercracker/Skywarp bit are apparent to people, subconsciously or not, and you don't just think I threw that giant piece in here out of nowhere… (and by the way, way to go for the correct guess, **PyroDea** – even if you doubted yourself about it).

Thanks, all, for still sticking with me, and for being lovely people and reviewing!


	26. Innocent Mistakes

Title: Property Of

Rating: T

Summary: During Cybertronian 'peace,' ex-Cons hide the sentience of and sell humans as pets to secure Earth. Sam and Mikaela might just be the first to grasp the reality of the situation alongside their new owner.

Chapter: Innocent Mistakes

I'm not dead. Really, I'm not.

As always, thank you to **PyroDea,** and also to **nessus** and** Gentle Kit** for picking up on my typos and stuff like that. I actually have a printed copy of the entire fic (gotta love 'free' printing at my college) that I'm going back over and making slight edits to (which will eventually be made to the online version as well), so… I think of you frequently.

* * *

The little girl slept, bundled in her blankets and completely lost to the world. Strands of yellow-blonde hair lifted and fell with her tiny breath – such minute movements, yet all too noticeable contrasted against the complete stillness of the rest of the room. There was no breeze, no draft; she did not twist or turn, and so her body and blankets stayed still; the hand that held her appeared as though turned to stone; and the optics that watched over her had not strayed for nearing an hour.

Ironhide could not bring himself to wake her. Were he honest with himself, he would admit that he also simply did not want to. When the human youngling slept, she was one of the purest, most uncorrupted things the ex-Autobot had ever seen in his life. He dreaded the thought of losing the ability to experience that.

Why couldn't he have had at least another few orns?

It wasn't that he wished Bumblebee and Jazz hadn't found her creators – no, certainly not that. Annabelle wanted her parents. In many ways, she _needed_ them. That they had been found so quickly should be seen as a blessing from Primus. It was entirely unbecoming of a mech with his reputation to be so caught up in the affairs of an organic youngling. He was aware she should never have been separated from her planet and family to begin with, was aware that she needed to return at the soonest possible occasion, and was aware that that time was now, and so he had a duty to see her home safely. And, by Primus, he should feel proud and content when he met that objective.

That was it. That was where his emotional investment should have stopped.

And yet…

The door whooshed open. Ironhide didn't even twitch a rotor. He was intent on the girl, waiting to see if the sound would bother her.

She didn't twitch, either.

"_**Are we done getting ready yet?**_" asked Ratchet as he entered. Even his voice did not rouse Annabelle from her dreams. When he noticed her, the medic quieted. "_**Still letting her sleep, I see. You know you can't carry her out of here like that, don't you? You'll need to wake her up so the transition doesn't scare her; even if you managed to get her in the carrier without waking her, when – not if – she wakes up in transit to Earth, she'll be terrified.**_"

_In transit to Earth_. The phrase made several of the black mech's gears whir disagreeably, and at last he ripped his gaze from his little human.

"_**Ironhide… it is for the best,**_" said Ratchet plainly, almost regretfully, when he saw how Ironhide looked up at him.

The black mech studied Ratchet a moment, and then looked silently back down at the tiny creature in his hand. It was hard enough to be asked to endure separation from Chromia – now this, too? For three cycles he'd silently cursed the otherwise good news from Prime, and now there was no more waiting.

"_**You think I'm unaware?**_" he groused. "_**Of course I know that she's better off with her kind, with her family… But Bee hasn't even been gone an orn yet. I didn't realize I'd be giving her up this soon.**_"

"_**Not giving her up – giving her back,**_" Ratchet quietly corrected him. When that earned him an angry yet pained glare, he added, "_**If she needs to be returned as a gesture of good will, there is nothing we can do. Maybe you can console yourself with the knowledge that it's for a good cause. I **_**refuse **_**to watch you mope.**_"

Ironhide stiffened. "_**I do not mope.**_"

"_**Well, whatever you're doing is pretty slagging close.**_" Then, aiming to break some of the tension, he suggested, "_**Or maybe you're just scared that you're going to be gunned down by an angry human when we arrive, and you're trying to hide it.**_"

Ironhide stiffened even more. "_**I am not afraid of the humans.**_"

"_**Maybe not in general, but perhaps one in particular?**_" the CMO said knowingly.

Although the comment had been empty of teasing, laced instead with restrained concern and understanding, Ironhide grimaced irately. "_**No. And if you pester me about that anymore, **_**you're**_** gonna need a medic.**_"

Ratchet attempted to hold in his laugh, but failed. That only made Ironhide's expression darken. "_**As though I haven't heard that threat before.**_"

Despite himself, the weapons specialist's grimace morphed into the barest of grins.

"_**Come on, then,**_" called Ratchet, straightening and smirking ever so slightly. "_**We'll miss the shuttle to Salvus if we don't leave soon. I can't **_**imagine **_**how they'll get along if, for some unforeseen reason, we never make it there,**_" he teased, and for good measure put his hand on his waist in mock irritation.

Ironhide, against his will, gave a groan of subdued laughter. "_**Stupidest name for a colony I ever heard.**_"

"_**Yet nowhere near as stupid as the name of our own, in retrospect, you must admit,**_" said the medic.

Thinking for a moment, Ironhide paused – and then huffed once. Yes, Verita Pax – under the circumstances – was a terrible name. Before he could comment, another voice worked its way into the conversation.

"What are you talking about?" Annabelle queried, stretching and yawning and forcing herself up into a sitting position. She blinked wearily between the mechs, all sleepiness and innocence.

"Nothing, youngling," Ratchet answered in Ironhide's stead. The latter was too caught up trying to record what he assumed would be some of his last interactions with the girl. "You've been sleeping for a while. We're getting ready to leave for the ship."

Annabelle smiled. "The one that's gonna take me to Mommy and Daddy?"

"Yes, that one," confirmed Ratchet. He shot Ironhide a speculative glance. "So long as nothing goes wrong, you'll be seeing them again before the day is out."

She began to wiggle in happiness. It was the same happiness with which she had responded to the original news – that was, after a ridiculous amount of disbelief considering how young she was. At first she'd drilled them on how Sam or Mikaela could possibly recognize her daddy since they'd never met him, and how they could possibly have a telephone that reached that far to get the news on, but eventually she had broken down into excitement about seeing her parents again. Unwittingly, she'd added to Ironhide's moral dilemma by talking about them nonstop, trying to describe how much her mother loved her and how great her father was, and how brave and protective they both were ("especially Daddy," she'd said).

Ever since, Ironhide had the unsavory suspicion that once he handed her over, he was never going to see her again. If Annabelle's creators were anything like she described – especially her father, he mused in mimicry – she'd be barricaded away from him and all other mechs for the rest of her days. Ironhide had to admit that he would do the same in a similar position.

"You should… 'use the bathroom' before we leave," Ironhide said, purposefully trying to put a stop to that line of thought. He almost winced at the strange phrase. What relieving oneself and bathing had to do with one another, Ironhide had no idea – but according to Annabelle, the two were clearly linked.

Annabelle, however, seemed to find that suggestion amusing. She giggled for a second and then said, "That's what my parents always say!" She turned in a circle and then looked at the mechs. "Are you gonna let me down?"

Ironhide paused at the question. Really, he didn't want to let her down. Still, all it took was a gentle systems clearing cough from the always-perceptive Ratchet to prompt Ironhide to lower his hand to the countertop and let Annabelle climb off.

She did so sluggishly, struggling with the blankets for a moment. Then she was prancing off and disappearing into her shelter.

"_**Come on, you old fool,**_" Ratchet said, giving Ironhide a light shove. "_**I'm sure you can at least try to focus on the good in this. Melancholy is not a good look for you. You knew this wasn't going to be easy, but what's that you were always telling new recruits back in the day?**_"

The question went unanswered for a while. Indeed, Ironhide considered not rising to the goad. Yet, in the end, he decided to make use of the distraction while he could. "_**Who are you calling an old fool? And besides; I'm sure I've shouted plenty of things at new recruits enough times that they still have recharge memory-replays about them. You'll have to be more specific.**_"

Ratchet smirked. "_**Something about difficulty not being important enough a factor to discourage them in any way, I do believe.**_"

"_**True enough,**_" Ironhide conceded with a sigh.

"_**It's a miracle anyone stayed in the faction after they went through combat training with you. I wonder how many recruits we lost simply because they were afraid of ever having to answer to you on one of your bad days?**_" Ratchet mused.

"_**Don't make me shoot you.**_"

"_**That's no way to speak if you want to make any friends,**_" the medic chided.

Ironhide laughed once, shallowly, still watching for Annabelle's reappearance. "_**Yet, here you are.**_"

"_**An unfortunate error in judgment made in my past,**_" said Ratchet, shaking his head. "_**Made so long ago that I can no longer correct it. I've long since resigned myself to living with the consequences.**_"

Annabelle ecstatically announced, "Finished!" and came dancing out into view. She grabbed the ends of her lengthy top – in between a shirt and a dress, she said – and twisted it back and forth. "Are there gonna be any potty breaks?"

With a grunt of amusement, Ironhide answered, "No need. The trip is not long, and we are bringing your bathroom with us."

Bright eyes widened in wonder, and while she clearly did not understand how that was possible for a moment, Annabelle didn't bother asking. She asked instead, "How long do I hafta stay in the box again?"

"Less than an hour," replied Ironhide.

"That's, like, forever!" Annabelle exclaimed, features scrunching into a pout.

Barely a blink in time, actually – and yet neither Ironhide nor Ratchet enjoyed the idea of holing her up in a fake carry-on of medical tools even for that long. If anyone asked, Softspark was staying with the same mech Signal and Complement were supposedly staying with: Botanica. The femme was always bringing in new humans and thus had so large a collection by this point that it would take more than a passing interest to uncover the lie (and while Botanica had been curious about the need for deception, she had accepted Prime's apology that they could not explain everything yet).

"The second you can come out, we'll let you. We don't want anything to happen to you, and if others find out that you're with us, something bad could happen," Ironhide explained patiently for what felt the hundredth time. With younglings, repetition was one of many things required to drill instructions home.

She sighed dramatically. "Okay."

"And what's the rule about the box?" prompted Ratchet.

A second sigh, much softer than the first. "When I'm in the box, I can't talk or hum or sing. I gotta be quiet or else someone might hear me," she recited.

Ratchet nodded. He pulled the container out of subspace and held it steady; Ironhide offered Annabelle his hands, which she climbed onto without further prompt. Carefully, Ironhide lowered her into the largely empty carry-on.

"When you come out of there, you'll be well on your way to seeing your parents again," Ironhide promised her, keeping the inappropriate disappointment from his voice.

Annabelle glowed at this. She sat down cross-legged and held her hands in her lap, giving both mechs a wide smile. If it meant seeing her mommy and daddy again, she would be on her very best behavior.

She waved at Ironhide as he hesitantly closed the lid.

"_**Well then,**_" Ratchet said. He and Ironhide watched one another closely for a quiet second, and then Ratchet gently proffered the container. Ironhide took it securely into his hands. "_**We have a shuttle to catch.**_"

"_**We do,**_" agreed Ironhide distantly.

Ratchet studied him sidelong as they walked out of the medical bay, leaving the ship behind for Primus knew how long they'd be gone.

"_**I'll say it again, and this'll be the last time I do,**_" the medic proclaimed as he began to remotely power down the Ark. "_**You're doing the right thing.**_"

Ironhide didn't bother to respond. Partially, that was because he was in whole-sparked agreement. Excluding that, everything about this situation was wrong. Annabelle being taken from her family? Wrong. Ex-Decepticons lying to their recovering society, exploiting and practically enslaving an unsuspecting alien race? Wrong, albeit – in retrospect – not all that surprising. Having even the slightest sense of regret about returning Annabelle? Wrong. Really, the only thing 'right' about this from an objective standpoint was the fact that the youngling would finally get to be reunited with her creators, and they with their child.

So why did giving her up (because no matter what Ratchet said, Ironhide couldn't give her back unless he gave her up) still feel like it was a wrong all its own?

* * *

"Um, ex… excuse me?" buzzed Wheeljack, trying his hardest not to fall over as he bent down and peered under the light stand.

Nick was there, just as he had been for the past several cycles, bunched up on top of some cleaning fabrics and tucked far away from the edge of his safe haven. Indeed, the solider had only ventured from the place twice, according to Wheeljack's cameras.

The engineer had immediately accepted (albeit sadly) the rescued human's unwillingness to truly interact with him. Hoping to quell some of the soldier's anxieties, Wheeljack had constructed a small table – on which he later put a fascinating off-world light he'd come across vorns ago, crafted from a most curious species that had taken the form of semi-solid gelatinous masses – to serve as a hideaway. Taking into account Nick's dimensions, Wheeljack had carved out the bottom of the otherwise solid metal table so that, should he choose, the human would be able to stand under it. Then he had soldered on peg-like legs that left a gap from the floor that spanned approximately two-thirds of the man's height. Finally, there was a perimeter separating the initial gap from the carved out living space underneath that stretched about the length of one of Wheeljack's fingers.

In short, Wheeljack had tried to ensure that even he couldn't reach under the table if he wanted to, leaving Nick perfectly safe from mechs – yet comfortable, and with all of his living requirements – underneath.

The human's near refusal to leave his little sanctuary was a raving endorsement of the success of Wheeljack's design. Truly, the only times Nick had ventured out since Wheeljack had presented him with the table had been to suspiciously scope out the home on two occasions when the ex-Autobot had left for business.

Presently, Nick was preoccupied with the second 'gift' Wheeljack had given him: a small puzzle, similar to ones often crafted for younglings. It involved rearranging interconnected blocks and rings of various textures in order to achieve specific patterns, each requiring a unique sequence of moves. Wheeljack had redesigned it specifically for the human.

Nick didn't even look up at the first summoning.

"Excuse me," Wheeljack tried again.

This time, Nick heard him. He snapped his head up and shoved the toy down into the blankets, perhaps trying to hide the fact that he'd been playing with it. "What?" he asked, hard and to the point (although, not quite as venomous or openly suspicious as he'd been in previous cycles).

"I was wondering if you wouldn't mind trying something on for me."

Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't that. Nick's eyes widened a fraction, and he stared at Wheeljack like he'd never seen anything like him. Just as the silence and staring were starting to get to the engineer, the soldier blinked and said, disbelievingly, "You seriously think I want to play dress up for you?"

Wheeljack contemplated this for a moment, head fins flickering in consideration. "Um… no? I admit that I'm not entirely certain what you're referring to," he acknowledged his unfamiliarity with the phrase, "but this is similar to any standard equipment fitting protocol, I assure you, and you are free to stay where you are if you still don't wish to come out."

Nick mouthed the words 'equipment fitting.' "What kind of equipment…?"

Here, the inventor lit up – both figuratively and literally. "To make humans more versatile in their environments, natural or otherwise, I'm trying to construct a set of 'grappling gloves,' so to speak. I'm hoping they'll be able to multiply your arm strength and help dig into surfaces to enhance climbing grips and the like. It's all about mobility, after all – could come in handy eluding or attacking Cybertronian enemies on Earth!" He added sheepishly, "A lot of my inventions wind up not working very well or 'malfunctioning spectacularly,' but I'm taking extra precautions on this one, I promise."

Nick's first impulse was to ask just how high a failure or malfunction rate the mech's inventions had – or just how spectacular the malfunctions were – that he felt the need to mention it right up front like that. Nick chose to voice his second thought instead. "You're making something that's supposed to help people fight you guys and get away from you."

Although meant to be a question, it came out rather deadpan.

"Of course," agreed Wheeljack. "You seemed very enthusiastic about protection and defense when I first brought you here. I figured that meant you would appreciate a few defensive and offensive materials to add to your arsenal! So, how about that fitting?"

This was, quite possibly, the toughest decision Nick had had to make in some time.

"Let me see it first," he compromised.

Flashing his fins happily, Wheeljack straightened up and carefully picked the prototype off of the lamp table between two fingers. He smiled approvingly at his handiwork before getting down onto the floor (now that he was reasonably assured that Nick was amenable to the fitting, he could get a little more comfortable). Once he was settled, he displayed the shimmering glove. "See?"

To any observer, Wheeljack surely would have looked ridiculous. Even when he was at his most optimal angle and level, he could only barely see Nick under the table – which was the way he'd designed it. So, he had his face pressed into the floor while he gestured at the tiny contraption and quickly described how it worked.

Apparently the ridiculousness of it worked in Wheeljack's favor. Nick hesitated a good long while before he deemed it safe and shuffled out of his blankets to approach the edge of his haven. He stopped, however, shortly before the dividing section where he'd have to bend and crawl, effectively leaving a safe distance between him and the mech.

Wheeljack tried to hide his excitement at the proximity, safe zone between them notwithstanding.

"So I only have to put it on my arm and squeeze that… palm bar thing… to activate it?" he questioned warily.

"Yes," confirmed the ex-Autobot. "When it extends, it should fit securely almost up to your elbow joint. It might be better for human musculature if the finished product or a later model encompasses the entire limb, including the shoulder, but working your joints' articulation into the apparatus will take considerably more time to engineer. I thought I'd start small for now."

Nick acquiesced after one final measuring look. "Roll it under here."

Wheeljack did so immediately, placing the condensed glove onto the floor and giving it a gentle push. It slid, whirling slightly, under the table, stopping only when it collided with Nick's feet.

Although he waited several seconds before picking the early prototype up, Nick eventually found himself turning the glove over in his hands, inspecting it. It was slightly heavier than it looked, but still surprisingly light if what Wheeljack said about it was true – and, at the moment, it looked like an incredibly fancy and bulky fingerless glove.

"That's a right-handed model," observed Wheeljack, "because I noticed you favored your right hand. I plan on constructing a complementing left hand mold, as well."

Nick gave Wheeljack a sideways glance which lasted barely half a second. Awkwardly, he fit his fingers into the open loops clearly designed for them, and used his left hand to shove the bulk of the gear as far down the back of his hand as he could; his fingers came to rest against their rings snugly. He flexed his hand a few times, twisting it this way and that, carefully avoiding the grip that slid along his palm.

A part of Nick rebelled at the very idea of having this mech-made contraption on him, and it took a few moments for him to feel like he was ready to activate it.

"Just a squeeze, and it'll do everything on its own?"

"If it works the way I designed it," Wheeljack said. The smile in his voice was evident.

After staring for a few more seconds, Nick tightened his face in determination and fisted his hand, clamping down on the smooth bar.

The results were instantaneous.

Nick stumbled a step back when thin sheet after thin sheet of metal rippled out along his arm, appearing to overlap like an armadillo's armor. Much of the bulk 'vanished' as the surface area increased, and an involuntary shiver emanated from his arm as the metal ghosted its way towards his elbow.

It was done in little over a second.

The two parties looked at the glove in silence: Wheeljack had catalogued the activation process for future review, and Nick was staring wide-eyed, trying to keep himself from having any undignified freak-out or similarly degrading reaction.

"So? How does it feel? Too tight, too loose?"

"It… fits like a glove," Nick said before he even realized it.

"A good-fitting glove, or a bad-fitting glove?" probed Wheeljack, confused. That was perhaps the most unhelpful response possible. "I definitely didn't intend for it to fit like a shoe or a hat." Although perhaps some type of boot with built-in propulsion or climbing grips wouldn't be unreasonable to add…

From the way Nick looked at him a moment later, Wheeljack surmised that the phrase had probably been a colloquialism. This hypothesis was proven correct when Nick said, "That means it's snug."

"Wonderful!"

"How does it grapple?"

"It doesn't at the moment. It's not fully outfitted yet," Wheeljack explained, incredibly enthused that he'd been asked a question. That meant Nick was interested! That, or he was uneasy and trying to relieve stress through idle talk… in which case, at least he was willing to talk! "See the empty space on top? I want to put an actual grappling hook there. I needed to make sure it was a proper fit before I continued."

"Well, it fits," the young man confirmed, holding in his uneasiness and trying to steady his heartbeat. He couldn't deny that the thing made him feel the teeniest bit tougher than usual (even though it wasn't done yet), but looking down at the clearly alien device on his arm was… a strange experience, to say the least. He half expected it to suddenly leech wires into him and turn him into a mindless drone. "Now how do I get it off?"

"The release is a simple electrical… interface… mechanism… Hm." Wheeljack slowed down and then stopped abruptly. Nick didn't like the sound of that; he dreaded raising his eyes from the strange sleeve-like contraption and onto Wheeljack's motionless face. "Though your nervous system operates on electrical impulses, you don't have the control over it to stimulate electrical sensors," he realized aloud.

"No, I don't." The terminology and exact implications were lost on the soldier, but one thing was perfectly clear to Nick. He couldn't have kept calm even if he'd tried. "You mean this thing's stuck on me forever?"

Wheeljack frantically began to shake his head. "No, no, no! No, it's not stuck! You just… can't remove it by yourself. I… I don't know why I didn't realize – I mean, you're not Cybertronian in the slightest, of course you can't activate those release sensors on your own… It'll need to have a button – carefully concealed, of course, so that it's never accidentally activated – or maybe programming for vocal recognition shutdown, or some sort of key. Of course, keys can be lost, so maybe…" Realizing he was beginning to ramble, Wheeljack shut up and refocused on the still-freaking-out Nick Vega. "It'll come off without a problem, but… you need to let me help you," he explained hesitantly.

They were quiet for several tense seconds. Eventually, Nick's expression of disbelief-tinged-with-anger (as though he suspected this had been the plan all along and a nefarious 'stage two' had been entered, and he was now about to regret agreeing to this) turned to something just as fierce, but mostly questioning. The silent 'How are you going to help?' was as loud as it possibly could have been.

"I know you don't like coming out of there," acknowledged Wheeljack with a downcast glance, "but I'd need you to step out for a minute and give me your arm. It would only take a second to activate the shutdown sensors."

For a moment, Nick contemplated keeping the glove on indefinitely. Then, to Wheeljack's mild surprise, he made the same face of determination he had before squeezing the grip – and then bent down and started to crawl out.

Wheeljack pushed himself up into a sitting position and nudged himself further away from the table so that Nick would have his space when he got out and stood.

The soldier stretched with a cracking in his spine that sounded painful to Wheeljack, but to which Nick didn't even respond. He flexed his fingers again, contemplatively, and caught Wheeljack's optics.

Time slowed. Each stared at the other, not wanting to make the first move, not certain what to say…

… and then Nick raised his metal-laced arm high, stiffly. "Here," he said, sounding and looking a lot calmer and more confident than he felt. "Get it off."

"Oh, of… of course, right," Wheeljack said quickly, leaning forward again.

He tried not to loom, really he did. He apologized twice as he came closer and extended his own hand, carefully closing his fingers over the limb. Nick managed to hold remarkably still (discounting two powerful inhales and exhales) despite having his entire arm firmly enclosed in both alien gadgetry and an alien himself.

Wheeljack sent several signals into the grappling glove, and a moment later the plating slid back in on itself, collapsing into its original state. He reclaimed his fingers and let Nick slide the glove from his hand.

They shared another look, and then Nick held the equipment out. When Wheeljack offered his hand, Nick deposited it.

"Thank you," said Wheeljack, once more pulling back to grant personal space. "I'll update the shutoff mechanism first thing, and try and get the stress nodes working so you can test out the strength function…"

Nick didn't retreat to his hideout right away, like Wheeljack had expected. Instead, he considered the Cybertronian for a short while.

It prompted Wheeljack to ask, optimistically, "I know you have a crude blade, but I believe you are also used to projectile weapons – guns, I mean?"

"I know a thing or two about them," Nick conceded suspiciously, still not turning away.

"Only solid projectiles, though, right? I believe your guns propel bullets, not… not plasma or heat or other condensed energy?"

Wondering where this was going, Nick said, "No, we don't run around firing lasers at each other. That technology is a little beyond us."

"Mm, lasers probably wouldn't be as effective against all Cybertronian armor as plasma… It may be difficult to condense a plasma generating mechanism into a weapon manageable for your species, but I can certainly try…" He blinked wondrously up at the ceiling in thought, then glanced at Nick. "If I make a prototype human plasma gun, would you be willing to test that, too? Although maybe I shouldn't focus solely on military aspects, because your information networks are definitely important, and I should probably be thinking about ways to safeguard those for you. Guess I might want to find Blaster and ask him a thing or two before I do that, though, since I'm no communications expert…"

There was nothing this mech could possibly do to hurt their networks any more, Nick figured. And, the notion of getting a laser gun – or whatever he'd called it – appealed to the soldier deep down. He considered saying something, but Wheeljack had already started talking again.

"But you'll definitely need a weapons upgrade first, seeing as yours only nicked me. Hey! How about that," Wheeljack interrupted himself with a start. He chuckled at the realization that he had been 'nicked' by a being with that same name. The man in question simply raised his eyebrows. "I'll make a more effective replacement first, _then_ try and figure out a communications system for your Earth-bound brethren, hm?"

Wheeljack carefully stood, and Nick instinctively cut a path back to his safety zone.

Although he had no idea why, the moment he turned to retreat with his many new thoughts, a foreboding feeling washed over Nick. It had seemed alright at first, but, for some reason, he had the as-of-yet unfounded feeling that he should be wary about this mech working with explosive weapons…

* * *

Lennox was torn about whether he should be pleased that the other patrols had listened to him and they hadn't been ratted out yet, or upset that no one was following procedure and running off to inform the people at the top. Camaraderie aside, there were regulations about these things, and for good reason. It just so happened that the lack of adherence was working out in his favor this time (and he _hoped_ he would've skirted around protocol, too, if it had been him being let in on the secret), but what did that say about security?

For all they knew, there were dozens of mechs sitting in on settlements, known or unknown, with everyone disobeying command and simply _not saying anything about it._

He looked steadily over at the questionable foursome: Sam, Mikaela, and Bumblebee – but particularly the kids – were talking to Jazz, trying to explain something to him. The explanation involved someone named Miles and someone named Prowl, and from what Will was hearing, it sounded as though this Miles guy was one of the teens' friends, who was currently under the surveillance of (aka, 'the ex-pet of') this Prowl fellow, who happened to be one of Jazz and Bumblebee's friends.

It had produced the most immature reactions from Jazz, who still didn't seem like he believed them, no matter how hard they tried to explain or how many nods of agreement Bumblebee provided.

Lennox looked back down at the latest inventory report, which, understandably, was not exactly a page turner. He glanced back over at the strange conversation.

Against all odds and expectations, nothing of importance had happened since the disclosure meeting five days prior. A part of him expected that he'd either wake up in or return to the safe point from a patrol and find the place leveled. Recently, he expected to wake up or come back to a pair of handcuffs or something for harboring these mechs (and being willing to invite a third one in so he could have Annabelle back).

Yeah… Sarah had responded to that exactly like he had predicted. Silence, then calm denial, which had leapt quite quickly into heated denial. From there, it was a hop, skip, and a jump straight to breaking down in crazed tears and head shaking, and feeble attempts to push him away when he'd tried to hold her and calm her down. That had lasted a good long while. Then, finally, once she'd gotten all of her resurfacing emotions out of the way, she'd turned to much calmer hysterics (yes, such thing existed) about the prospect of having her baby girl again.

He'd smartly neglected the tidbit about the mech who was returning her being an artillery master and eons old frontliner.

But, damn, how he was dying for a response from whatever mechs had received Jazz's message, so he could have something more to hold on to, something else to tell Sarah. Sure, he had been warned that a response might take a while, but that did nothing to make him relax.

"You know, Will, I keep expecting you to develop your own narrator," Epps said matter-of-factly.

Casually – as though there _weren't_ mechs chatting it up thirty feet away – Will twisted to face his longtime friend.

They looked at one another in silence, Lennox's face asking for clarification. "See," Epps obliged, "you keep giving these brooding, meaningful looks. Perfect fodder for a narrator voiceover to turn on and explain what's going on in that head of yours."

"Nothing worthwhile," said the captain, making an unintentional show of shifting and ruffling quickly through the inventory report before turning attention back to his friend. "There's just a lot to think about lately."

"I hear ya."

Lennox retraced his thoughts. Nothing significant had happened in the last few days – yes, he'd gone over that… Discounting, he chided himself, the announcement from Bumblebee that they were more than halfway done modifying the scanners to pick up those alloys they'd been talking about. Why the mech should treat that with the same level of enthusiasm as a kid opening a present was unfathomable to Will. Hell, even _he_ wasn't that excited about it, and it was his safe point's security that was at risk.

Oh, and, apparently, the kids had found out only yesterday where exactly in the country they were.

"Stanislaus?" Mikaela and Sam had both echoed when Mulderrig told them.

"The national park? In California?" Mikaela had pressed.

"National forest, yeah," Mulderrig had agreed.

Pierce had quickly explained, "Largely uninhabited land, concealed by nature – national parks with forests are hot territory for refugee camps. You know, if internet was up, I'm sure your friend would get a kick out of the geography." He'd gestured at Bumblebee while saying that.

"Why?" Sam had asked.

"Nah. We gotta have some secrets," Pierce had grinned.

Though miffed about being denied information, Sam and Mikaela had been pretty happy about that news. That meant they weren't _too_ far from home. Not nearby, certainly, yet also not across the country like they had somewhat feared.

But beyond those two bits of otherwise unexciting information, the days had been mercifully calm. Lennox could tell that was about to change from the way Jazz suddenly straightened and then held his hand out for silence.

Will narrowed his eyes as he regarded the silver mech. "What?" he prompted.

"I just decoded Prime's reply to my message, and I'm about to read through it," said Jazz brightly.

Everything inside the warehouse stilled for one calm, glorious moment, and then Lennox broke it by demanding ineloquently, "What now?" at the exact same time as Epps straightened and said, "Whoa, whoa, whoa – you _what_?"

Jazz tilted his head. Hadn't he been clear? "Just decoded the reply from Prime."

"Just decoded…? You've been talking to these guys for over an hour. When did you have time to decode anything?" Lennox asked, utterly, shamelessly confused.

Jazz, for a brief moment, looked like he didn't understand the question. Then he registered the surprise on all the humans' faces. Not only Epps and Lennox, but Mikaela and Sam were staring at him as though he'd customized another head onto his frame. "I was multitaskin'. You talk and play games at the same time, don't ya? I talk and decode."

"Well, when did you receive the message, then?" Epps pressed for clarification.

"Uh, about seventeen hours ago?" answered Jazz, sounding uncharacteristically uncertain. "Why does that matter if you wouldn't have understood it before right this second?"

Lennox made to speak once, then twice, and found himself incapable of producing sounds both times. Then he took a deep breath, stared hard at the ceiling, and finally lowered his eyes back down. He fastened them on the blue visor of the confused mech. "You've had the reply pertaining to my daughter for over seventeen hours, and you didn't say anything? That didn't register as something you might want to at least let us know about?"

"I didn't wanna get your hopes up before I knew what it was all about. You'da just been preoccupied with it for that whole time," Jazz explained his reasoning, honestly apologetic now that he saw his fault. "I wasn't tryin' t' slip something by ya. In the future, I'll let ya know first thing, how about that?"

Epps and Lennox stared at one another.

In the end, Lennox chose to ignore that problem for now. "Well? What's the response?"

They all waited in rapt attention, like kindergarteners awaiting story time. Sam even crossed his legs and leaned closer.

"First off, Prime was happy to hear from us and to find out you didn't try an' offline us on the spot. Also extends his apologies and regrets, promises he's workin' on his end to get to the bottom of this an' rectify the situation," he managed to both rattle off and still maintain his superior's sincerity.

That was all well and good, but Lennox quickly prompted, "What about Annabelle?"

"I was gettin' there," Jazz said patiently. Suddenly, the mech frowned. "Oh. Hm." He ran a claw-like finger across the side of his face. "That coulda come with a little more forewarnin'," he said.

William Lennox was normally an easygoing man. Nothing, however, about this situation was normal. He was close to leaping out of his own skin with impatience. "What is it? What could have come with more forewarning?"

Jazz blinked at Bumblebee, and judging from the way the yellow mech leaned back and began buzzing his now-stiff doorwings, a radio message had been shared. Bumblebee appeared completely surprised by this news, whatever it was.

"Optimus says Ironhide's comin' here," said Jazz at last. "And so is Ratchet."

"Really?" said Mikaela, amazed. "I thought they were trying to avoid raising suspicion!"

Jazz nodded slowly. "Says… says he doesn't want anything else 'hindering relations'. I… hmm. I understand wantin' t' get your daughter back t' ya as quick as possible to show his good intentions," he explained, "but I don't understand sendin' Ratchet, too."

"Ratchet. Is that what one of you said a medic friend of yours was called?" Lennox addressed Sam and Mikaela.

They looked appropriately put on the spot. "I mean, yeah," Mikaela confirmed.

"You didn't say anyone was hurt here, did you?" asked Sam, just as stumped as everyone else.

It was Bumblebee who hesitantly spoke up, "I think I might know why Prime would want them to come together." He looked apologetically at everyone present and ultimately settled his optics on Jazz. "It makes sense, when you think about it. You know how Ironhide is when he's in unpredictable and… unfavorable conditions. The one 'Bot other than Prime who can keep him calm no matter what happens is Ratchet."

The warehouse became quite again. However, whereas the two mechs looked thoughtful and the two teenagers looked pleased, the two soldiers were a mix of incredulous and mortified.

"You mean," began Epps, very slowly, like he was having a hard time comprehending what he was hearing, "that there are _two more_ _mechs_ coming here? Two more. So there's going to be _four_ of you."

"Yeah. Bee and I make two, Ironhide and Ratchet make two, and two plus two gets ya four, last I checked," Jazz agreed.

The tech sergeant turned his head sharply to Lennox. "How is that going to come across as looking like anything _but_ a mounting assault? And I thought _two _was bad!"

Lennox looked absolutely lost for a moment. He closed his eyes and raised a hand to his forehead, resting his temple in his palm like he'd spontaneously developed the mother of all headaches. He sat like this for several seconds and then dragged his hand down his face, dropping it heavily onto his leg and gripping his knee.

"We'll spread the word along to Graham and Howard and them. We'll explain we weren't given any other option, that their side couldn't wait to enter communications and had to act now, so there wasn't a choice," reasoned Lennox, trying to stay calm and salvage the situation.

"Maybe it _was_ the only opportunity they had," Sam agreed. "It's not like you can pack up and leave without anyone noticing it – you have to have a reason. Maybe this was the soonest they could do it with an alibi," he tried to help.

Lennox nodded absentmindedly. "Yeah, that's fine, that's fine. How long do we have to get everything ready and coordinate patrols?"

"Factoring in the send date and how long the trip will take…" Jazz barely paused a fraction of a second to calculate, "They should be here by midday tomorrow."

Will wanted to laugh. He really, really did. Somehow, he managed to keep it in and instead stared mutely. "You're not joking, are you," he soon mumbled.

"Nope."

"Well that was fast," commented Epps, dryly. Then he tried to cheer up. "Hey – at least that means Annie'll be home before you know it. I can't imagine how happy Sarah's gonna be."

Yes, that was true… Lennox supposed he couldn't be upset about that. Anything that got her home quicker couldn't be bad. He supposed that twenty-four hours was more than enough time to find the patrol heads and move some things around to clear up space for two more mechs.

"You two are going to have to help us move some of this stuff around so we can make room," Lennox said aloud, glancing around at the two actual vehicles and some of the nearest crates (including the one he was sitting on) before fastening Bumblebee and Jazz with stern looks.

"No problem, but you should probably know… You're gonna be hard-pressed to keep Ironhide holed up in here. He gets… antsy," Jazz warned.

Lennox was about to retort ("like I care what his preferences are!"), then froze. He took a deep breath. "My daughter's not only with a walking cannon, she's with a _trigger-happy_ walking cannon?" In that moment, he bore a remarkable resemblance to some of Wheeljack's more infamous inventions, simply waiting to explode.

"He may have been called that once or twi-!" Jazz began to confirm, only to frown when Mikaela started speaking at the top of her lungs to drown him out.

"I think what he means is Ironhide doesn't seem like the type to sit quietly in a corner all day," she said.

After giving Jazz a look that made it perfectly clear that he knew what the mech had been saying, and that he didn't approve of it at all, Lennox turned to Mikaela. "That's too bad. If you think having two mechs idling in a warehouse was cause for concern, just wait until there are four. Next thing you know, there's gonna be five, then six, or as far as some of my teammates are concerned, twenty. Don't even talk to me about one of them being hard to keep under control. I guarantee that won't blow over well."

Bumblebee whined quietly. "There's also the problem that Ironhide doesn't have the dampening mods that we have. I don't think Ratchet does, either. They'll set off your perimeter alarms."

The soldiers digested that silently.

Figuring now was as good a time as any to tack on his last piece of bad news, Jazz pointed out, "Plus, I don't have an alt mode scanned for Ironhide the way I had one for Bee. I got Ratchet one, 'cause I thought it was funny at the time – not expecting I'd ever need it – but I don't have one for 'Hide, and none of the ones you got in here are gonna match him."

"What are you saying?" Epps asked.

"If they're following Bee's coordinates, they aren't gonna land anywhere near anyplace they can scan an alt. That's fine for Ratchet, I got him covered. 'Hide? Not so much. I need to go back to the highway and pre-trans-scan a form for him."

"Not by yourself you don't," Lennox said quickly, standing up.

He had lost control of the situation with the reception of a single message. Subconsciously, it made him wonder if he'd ever had control to begin with. He didn't like thinking about that.

"I'm game to someone coming with," Jazz said easily.

"And they don't count," Lennox added hastily when he saw the teens light up. Their faces fell disappointedly; Jazz shrugged.

Epps raised his hand. "I'll go. The one-oh-eight's a few hours' walk from here. If we leave right now, we might be able to get back by nightfall, depending on how long it takes you to find a disguise for your friend."

Lennox frowned. "It'll take at least twenty minutes for someone to get here and get ready to go with you."

"Don't need it," Epps said, sighing. He straightened and stretched. "Realistically, what's one or two more of us going to help if he's trying to pull something? Let me just grab my gun and a snack and I'm good to go. You can survive here without me until night, right?"

"What do you want me to tell the patrols when they switch?"

Epps actually smirked as he walked away to start gathering his sparse gear. He gave Jazz a sly expression and then twisted his head to regard Lennox. "Say my will broke down and I couldn't resist taking him for a test drive. That's _not_ a suggestion for my mode of transport, by the way," he added. "We both got two feet and we're gonna use them."

"Suit yourself," Jazz shrugged. "I'm just sayin', my seats seem pretty comfy to me. It'd be a shame t' waste 'em forever."

Ignoring the saboteur, Epps gave Lennox a meaningful look, waiting for the official clearance.

It was Will's turn to sigh. "Fine. I'll fill Chun in when she gets back and explain where you are." Then, he turned to the other people present. "It's a good thing our patrol shift is coming up. You're coming with us," he gestured at Bumblebee, Sam, and Mikaela. "You'll help shut down the scanners, and without going through the system. If a superior sees part of the perimeter grid offline, we'll be in a world of trouble."

"Understood," Bumblebee readily agreed.

"Good," Lennox approved.

Sam glanced between the two soldiers and the two mechs. "So, when this whole thing is over, does that mean we can move on with trying to get the news out about the 'not all mechs are evil' thing? And actually start planning what we can do about what's going on?"

Now, that was a good question – one that had everyone present exchanging glances.

"I don't see why we can't start looking into it once everything is hammered out. You haven't given us any explicit reasons not to trust you yet, I'll give you that," Lennox acknowledged, "but it's not like you've earned no-questions-asked trust, either. We take this slow. And, right now, you focus on getting my daughter back. We'll move forward from there, one step at a time," he finished solidly, firmly.

Sam gave an understanding nod and then settled back.

"I guess we'll be on our way then. No point wasting time," Epps announced right as the warehouse was falling silent again.

Jazz stood with the gentle sound of sliding armor and stretched casually (trying to pay no heed to Lennox's habitual staring) while Epps finished making rounds: he snatched up a couple weapons, doubled back, rummaged through the cabinets, grabbed what looked like a few granola bars, then returned to his starting point.

"All ready," said Epps. He slapped Lennox on the shoulder, nodding once. Then he looked over and up at Jazz. "It's you and me; let's get this done."

The ex-Autobot grinned. "Sure thing."

"If we're not back by night… well, I'm sure you'll think of something," Epps started strong and then shrugged. He nodded in farewells to the teens and then walked purposefully out of the door.

Not wanting to be left behind even for a moment, Jazz gave a pleasant wave and followed, only he exited from one of the much larger garage doors.

That left Sam, Mikaela, Bumblebee, and Lennox blinking after them.

After a few seconds, Lennox turned to look at his remaining charges. As if drawn magnetically, they all turned to look at him. They stared at each other for a moment or two, and then Lennox cleared his throat. "What? Go back to talking."

"Sir, aren't you…" Mikaela began and then paused. "Aren't you happy Annabelle's coming back sooner? I know it's short notice, but it's still a good thing, right? You aren't only upset, right?"

Lennox eyed her, then her boyfriend, and said, "No. No, I'm not. I think a part of me won't believe it until I see it, but yes – it's a very good thing. Me getting all emotional isn't going to help anything, though, so," he gestured at them and retook his seat, picking up his inventory report again, "go back to talking. About something else."

Nodding their understanding, Sam and Mikaela tried to start a new conversation.

"So… how about that orange juice this morning? All orange. And juicy. And in a cup," Sam tried.

In mere moments, the fumbling background conversation was nothing more than unintelligible buzz. Lennox's gaze was intent upon his papers, as though he was going to be quizzed. Truthfully, he couldn't even make out the words right now.

This time tomorrow, he might see Annabelle again. This time tomorrow, he might be able to wrap his arms around her. This time tomorrow, he might be able to bring her home to Sarah, and they could finally be a complete family again – no more wondering where she was, no more tears, and no more unanswered questions.

Just one more day. One more day, and the nightmare that he and his wife had shared for the past fourteen months might finally be resolved.

* * *

"_**If Bl-Blackout's latest t-t-target is invalid, then we will-ill have four strays and one li-i-ine of the fam-am-amily left to work th-through,**_" Frenzy announced once he sorted through the latest transmission from the overseas communications expert.

What should have been encouraging news (more like an encouraging reminder) only served to bother Barricade. Their small team had been at this for far too long now – two months, by human reckoning. Four targets were still off the grid; Primus only knew where they had ended up in the confusion, or if they were even still alive. They still had a line of the family to work through, and for all they knew, every last one of the slaggers could have fled their homes and made the job of tracking them next to impossible.

Even worse: one of Barricade's favorite pastimes now was griping about Starscream's lack of foresight in dismantling the humans' networks and civilization, and yet, Barricade himself had been instrumental in implementing those orders, and he'd had _fun_ doing so, meaning he had played a key role in making his current job harder on himself. This only frustrated him more.

If he was frank, Barricade had his doubts that the glasses even existed anymore. Glass was fragile and humans were stupid, and there was no way such an inferior species would know the importance of that little artifact.

Maybe it would be better to double check the geographical location of Megatron, find him, and reanimate him. He, at least, was sure to know exactly what his navigation settings were meant for and whether or not the AllSpark was on this world.

Of course, that wasn't a suggestion they could make to Starscream. He could see it now. He could _hear_ it now – that grating voice reaming him out in unrighteous, arrogant ire and making his audios ache.

It wasn't worth it yet. Barricade would stick this out until the end, taking his pleasure from the moments of destruction that made the venture bearable.

Then, maybe, when the search was exhausted, he might talk to Blackout about a little secretive mutiny. After all, did they _really_ need Starscream's permission to go after Megatron? Although, even Barricade had to admit that he wasn't certain that he wanted the tyrant back yet, either.

All he had was the meantime. And he greatly disliked the meantime.

/ _**If this turns out fruitless – and we find out we wasted the last several orns looking for glasses that have either been destroyed or can't be decoded – then I'm taking it out on the last descendant we encounter. 'Samuel James Witwicky' will regret being born into this family if we get to him and even **_**he**_** doesn't have them,**_ / he transmitted to Blackout.

In his ever-mounting anger and impatience, he didn't even bother to put any encryptions or encodings on either the frequency or the message itself.

* * *

**A.N.**

So, my computer got a pretty nasty virus for a while over break, and was rendered utterly useless for a couple weeks before I went on my week-long scholar program international study trip to the Dominican Republic. I saw and learned a lot of things there that have deeply moved me, and as of the 18th, I was just happy to be home.

I missed the chance to answer a lot of PMs and stuff during that time. I'm going to try and catch up on all of those now. I promise I wasn't trying to ignore you or anything.

Okay – this seemed fated. I was looking for a reasonable place to put the safe point in terms of proximity to important geographic places in the first movie (i.e. Tranquility (which was originally supposed to be in Nevada but was retconned to California), Mission City/LA, Hoover Dam, etc.). I was checking out forested areas that were even remotely near there on googlemaps, checking distances between places, yadda yadda. And it JUST so happens that I accidentally zoom in on this very specific part of Stanislaus National Forest near the 108, and _guess what the name of a small 'unincorporated community' there is called?_ Go on, guess.

Bumblebee.

I kid you not. Look up 'Bumblebee, California.' It exists. And, I probably never would have known that if not for my accidental zooming. So, considering this a sign from God, I decided that my search for where they were stationed was over. That's what Pierce and Mulderrig are talking about, by the way, and what they won't give Sam and Mikaela an answer to.

Finally, in parting, I wish to extend very belated New Years and holiday wishings to everyone (and here's to hoping the world doesn't end in December). Sorry for the delay.

R&R. It keeps me sane.


	27. Healthy Suspicion

Title: Property Of

Rating: T (a couple not-nice words)

Summary: During Cybertronian 'peace,' ex-Cons hide the sentience of and sell humans as pets to secure Earth. Sam and Mikaela might just be the first to grasp the reality of the situation alongside their new owner.

Chapter: Healthy Suspicion

Thanks to **Pokegirl11** for some early typo spotting. And, while I didn't hear from **PyroDea** on the last chapter, I'd feel remiss for not throwing in a mention anyway.

Surprise appearance in this chapter…

* * *

"How do you get anywhere in society with a name like 'Swindle'? Shouldn't that get you banned from business or something? It's telling you up front not to trust him. I don't get it." Really, he didn't. Miles couldn't see the sense in it. If there had been a kid running around openly calling himself a swindler, Miles knew he wouldn't have gotten involved with him. Why didn't the same hold true for advanced aliens?

Optimus blinked, doing his level best to conceal his brief spark of amusement. "He came into the name during the Great War. In many ways, he was an asset to both factions, although his allegiance was primarily to the Decepticons," he recalled. "He helped both sides, and therefore hurt both sides. Swindle has always been a mech interested in personal gain above all else. During the war, it was negligible because, illegal or not," he gave Prowl a neutral look, "his services were often integral to both sides. He was very… unique in that way.

"He dealt in anything from polishing creams and maintenance tools, to firearms and weaponry, to access codes and information. Did he take advantage of our needs? Of course, and thus the name. Yet there was hardly anything to be done about that, and there were always much more pressing concerns than trying to get an even deal out of him," Prime admitted.

Miles was unconvinced that that should provide enough of an excuse to let a self-proclaimed swindler head up so many trades nowadays, but he kept that opinion to himself.

For that matter, Miles was unconvinced that he needed to be here right now. It was only yesterday that he and Prowl had met with those Seekers, and apparently everyone thought that had gone really well. From what he was told, the ex-Cons had turned out to be very friendly and cooperative. While Prowl had cautioned that it was possible they were maintaining a strong cover, even the strategist had admitted they didn't seem keen on undoing the peace.

Also, at least from preliminary questions, Prowl estimated that they knew very little – if anything at all – about the whereabouts of any of the fugitive Decepticons, the truth behind Earth, or whether there were any plans for insurrection in the works.

Right after Optimus had told them how great of news that was, he informed them that they would be meeting with Swindle – who was the public figurehead to the Earth trades – later that day. When asked, the red and blue mech had explained he was attempting to 'get the ball rolling' as well as provide a little cover for his Earth team (not for the first time, Miles had wondered how his friends were faring planetside).

How he could be of any help in such a meeting, Miles had no idea.

But, there they were.

"I just received word that Swindle is here, making his way upstairs. Until I am certain he is off this level, I regret we must switch to Cybertronian," Prime announced suddenly and apologetically.

Miles shrugged. He hadn't been expecting anything different. Yawning, he leaned back against Prowl, who had been holding him for the last fifteen minutes or so since they had returned for the meeting.

It was barely a minute and a half before someone knocked at the door. Prime, briefly surveying the room, answered it.

As anticipated, a purple and orange mech stood on the other side. The escort, a small blue mech named Jolt, stood quietly behind him.

"_**You said you needed to speak with me about something?**_" Swindle asked instead of greeted, smilingly and bordering on jovial.

"_**Yes, Swindle, thank you for coming. Come in, please,**_" Prime said. He showed Swindle into the small room, thanked Jolt and saw him off, and then closed the door. The businessmech stepped inside and took to studying his surroundings, glancing casually from wall to table to Prowl. He smiled when he caught sight of what it was Prowl was holding. "_**I'm sure you remember Prowl,**_" Optimus went on kindly, gesturing with a relaxed hand.

Swindle nodded and held his hand out confidently in front of Prowl. He watched intently as the mech shifted the human into a secure one-handed hold and then extended the other, accepting the visitor's greeting. "_**Of course. I've had my fair share of run-ins with you and your ilk in the past, haven't I? Even without that, you're not exactly an easy mech to forget.**_"

In typical fashion, Prowl did not deign to comment. However, he did tilt his head up in acknowledgment of the fact, and even gave a partial nod of agreement.

"_**And who is this? I wouldn't have pegged Prime's retired Second as the type of 'bot to partake in this little business of mine,**_" Swindle went on, staring at the blonde human. Then he lifted his gaze and moved his optics back and forth between both mechs despite the fact that he continued to address Prowl. "_**Considering how adamant Prime is about not accepting a human – even as an on-the-house gift – I would've imagined you held similar attitudes about owning them.**_"

Neither Optimus nor Prowl missed the serious look Swindle sent Miles's way near the end of his sentence, but neither could tell what it meant.

"_**This is Quirk,**_" said Prowl. "_**It was never my plan to come into human ownership, but circumstances being what they were surrounding him, it was the logical choice. I would normally not be clingy, but since there was an attempt made at stealing him some orns ago by a mech named Leadfoot, I've taken to normally keeping him in close proximity.**_"

Swindle nodded knowingly (Prowl wondered just how knowingly, although he could not rationalize his sudden suspicion)."_**I **_**had**_** heard something about that mech being apprehended. A pity he resorted to such things. We were acquaintances, Leadfoot and I. Such a pity**_." He considered the floor for a moment or two and then looked up at Prowl. "_**At any rate, I'm pleased to see you had him returned and are taking precautionary measures; you can never be too safe. Always good to see someone who truly cares about his pet.**_"

Again, Prowl gave a half-nod in acknowledgement but said nothing.

Since Optimus seemed to be busy studying Prowl and Prowl seemed to be busy studying Swindle (to the ex-Con's growing discomfort), Swindle was the one who vented tiredly and addressed the room in general, "_**But, I imagine I was not called here to have a meeting about this human or his brushes with criminals. You have some concern about the trade – or rather, trades, plural?**_"

It was the first indication he gave of wariness.

As there was nothing to be gained from dodging the issue any longer, Prime nodded and simultaneously gestured at the square table. As the mechs took their seats, he confirmed, "_**Yes, we're here to talk about the Earth trades – particularly the human business, but there are a few points of interest that pertain to your ventures as a collective.**_" He sat opposite of Swindle, with Prowl on the side to his left.

"_**Hmm? This wouldn't happen to have anything to do with the fact that some of my sectors think there've been investigations done on them, would it?**_" Swindle mused, somehow managing to keep the accusing tone out of his voice.

"_**I imagine it would,**_" Optimus answered honestly. At the same time, he steadily commed Prowl, / _**Pet Miles.**_ /

/ _**Sir?**_ / Prowl returned, although he began to carefully run his finger down Miles's back nonetheless. The human was the teeniest bit surprised at first, but quickly relaxed into it. The probable explanation dawned on Prowl right as Optimus began to elaborate.

/ _**He will be less suspicious the more reassurances we give that nothing is amiss.**_ /

The pleased, almost relieved look Swindle gave Miles was inconspicuous yet damning all the same. His gaze trailed on the sight as he made to turn his focus back to Prime and asked, "_**If you don't mind me being forward, Prime, what exactly are your concerns?**_"

Optimus inclined his head gravely. "_**We know you are breaking regulations. I have had several mechs looking into your records and studying some of the humans more closely after processing. The results are fairly conclusive,**_" he prefaced, watching Swindle carefully. The practiced con-mech hid his unease well, and looked only the slightest bit chagrined at being 'found out' on whatever it was he was about to be called out on. "_**Your stock is **_**not**_** passively captured, and they are treated for injuries far too quickly to meet health regulations. That they are as injured as they often are after capture is illegal as it is, but the application of chemicals in these amounts after the fact is an even graver offense.**_

"_**On top of that,**_" Optimus went on after a brief pause, "_**there is absolutely no transparency to your record keeping. We understand the desire to keep some trade secrets and statistics to yourself, but you give the impression that you are hiding something. It is part of the reason we decided to look further into this matter. The system you're using right now needs to change. It is unacceptable to continue with such secrecy; it is not allowed by any standard ruling regarding the accessibility of records.**_"

Swindle mulled that over for a moment. "_**You could have approached us about the records without trying to dig through them,**_" he observed neutrally, still deep in thought.

Whether or not he planned on saying more, Prowl jumped in and pointed out, "_**You can't expect us to believe you would have been completely honest with us had we approached you right away. We were ensured that information was not falsified this way. Though the methods may be ethically questionable to some, they were legal, and the results speak for themselves.**_"

Sideways-nodding twice, Swindle refocused his optics and turned them to Optimus. "_**I can see that there's little to be gained from lying, so I won't. The records were intentionally inaccessible, and I admit to telling my employees I did not mind them skirting the passivity clause. The methods used to treat injuries, though, are a little beyond my direct oversight.**_"

"_**But you ultimately pay for those aspects. Surely they are of concern enough to you that you'd be aware of regulation violations,**_" insisted Prime.

"_**It's rather cheap to treat most injuries,**_" Swindle argued. He gestured absentmindedly at Miles. "_**Even en masse, the total expenditure there is miniscule compared to other concerns. Besides, I think you could be underestimating our scientists. If they wanted to produce healing balms for cheap, they can do it. It would be even less of a red flag in my books.**_

"_**Still,**_" he waved off the comments he predicted would come, "_**I won't question your findings. I plead ignorance, but I won't deny the findings and I won't stop you from enforcing the laws.**_"

Optimus blinked calmly. "_**All of them? We would require an immediate ban on these healing methods, immediate enforcement of the passivity clause, and disclosure of your records – and they must remain disclosed from here on out.**_"

Swindle vented exasperatedly. "_**Of course, of course. I won't pretend it'll be easy to immediately enact, but I will try my hardest. What repercussions are the trades facing?**_"

The ex-Autobots exchanged looks. "_**Consider this a final slap on the wrist,**_" it was Optimus's turn to wave off concerns. "_**Publicly disclose the failure to comply with the laws. We are willing to give you an orn to set things in order. If you haven't complied by then, or are not well on your way to, then we will discuss more extreme measures.**_"

"_**Among them a partial takeover of the trades or an independent planetary investigation team. We have already considered the possibility and looked into it,**_" Prowl added.

A flicker of recognition ran over Swindle's face, but he remained silent.

"_**Is that it, then? Are the specifics all we have left?**_" asked Swindle.

"_**I don't really think we need to review those,**_" said Prime. "_**The specifics are in the regulations. Which, unlike your records thus far, are a matter of public record. Meet them, and we will be squared away.**_"

Swindle shrugged inelegantly. "_**Fair enough. These are **_**all**_** of your concerns, then?**_" Although his gaze flickered back and forth between both ex-Autobots, neither it nor his voice had any suspicious inflection.

"_**For the time being,**_" said Prowl.

Optimus hesitated. He glanced at Miles, then pretended to contemplate instead of turning quickly to Swindle. "_**Actually,**_" he began, only then lifting his optics, "_**I must admit I'm increasingly concerned about something.**_" Intrigued yet unreadable, Swindle tilted his head in open inquiry. "_**The rumors about Starscream and other fugitive Decepticons being somehow connected to Earth are reaching my audios with rising frequency. There is no better mech to ask than you. Do you have any insight into their validity?**_"

The change was unmistakable. What it signified was a different question altogether. Swindle stiffened and his optics narrowed a fraction. "_**I'm hearing these rumors with increasing frequency, too. As always,**_" he said slowly, "_**I have to tell you that I don't know whether there's any truth to them. I haven't stumbled across any rogue Decepticons during my dealings with the planet, and I've never heard any reports about my subordinates running across them. I can't say for certainty that they aren't there, but if they're doing or planning something, it's parallel to my interests, not intertwined with them.**_" He moved his neck as though working a stuck gear. "_**We're in the same boat. The rumors are starting to concern me as well.**_"

"_**Understandable**_," both Optimus and Prowl said in unison.

They spoke for several breems more, regarding the mysteries and rumors surrounding the planet, what Swindle's future plans for the trades might entail, and a series of inquiries that the businessmech had for Prowl about his experience with Quirk and with humans in general (he was interested to hear about Prowl's involvement with the species in Verita Pax). Not much more information could be gleaned.

Eventually there was a knock on the door, and Jolt entered a moment later, claiming he was there to escort Swindle back down.

They all said their farewells and shook hands – "_**We'll be in compliance by the end of the orn, to the best of my ability,**_" Swindle promised – and then Swindle was gone. Whatever he was off to do was anyone's guess.

/ _**I was expecting more resistance, **_/ admitted Prowl after a moment.

/ _**As was I. It could be that he suspected we planned to confront him about something more serious, and was merely relieved we didn't, **_/ Optimus speculated.

/ _**I think it likely that any suspicions raised when Jazz's team scoured their records will be allayed, at least for some time now. **_/ Prowl regarded the door. / _**He seemed to take our words at face value.**_ /

Optimus, too, regarded the door. / _**Yes, he did seem to do that… but it is always difficult to be certain with Swindle. I have never greatly enjoyed that mech; he is far too practiced in deception and far too keen on self-interest.**_ /

/ _**I agree.**_ /

Right as Optimus was about to respond, he received the message that Swindle had been shown to the elevator. Deeming the coast clear, he changed to spoken as well as English communication. "We continue to operate as we have, if not even more cautiously. We can hardly move ahead while tactically blind; the moment there is word from the Earth team, we can proceed."

"Word on what?" asked Miles, jumping at the chance to join the conversation. "And what's the summary of what just happened?"

"Word on either what the chances of an alliance with human forces are and a report on the state of your planet from a war-tactical perspective, or any information on what it could be that has Swindle and his associates so attached to Earth. The more I consider it, the more I am certain that there is something about Earth – something important – that we do not know, and that made Swindle take the risk of dabbling with a planet with a sentient dominant species." Prime's optics narrowed. "I also grow more concerned by the day that the trades, and certainly Swindle, may not be the root of our involvement there…"

"I discussed with you the rumors that either your planet or your solar system may be the hiding place for some Decepticon fugitives," Prowl reminded rather than asked.

Miles nodded, but hesitantly. "That Starscream guy is the main one, right? That's why you had me check in on those Seeker guys." He frowned confusedly. "But you said they didn't know anything. Didn't you say something along the lines of, they were surprisingly nice and considerate, genuinely didn't seem to know anything, and the one was freaking you out from the way he kept looking at you?"

"Skywarp and Thundercracker indeed seem uninformed in that area, yes," Prowl said, ignoring the lattermost comment. "But the rumors may yet hold merit. That Skywarp – a mech who would know Starscream well – thought it was a fair possibility is disconcerting. The way Swindle reacted to the offhanded question…"

"How did he react?" Miles asked.

"Difficult to gauge," Optimus answered him. "That is the problem with Swindle. He is excellent at his craft. However, I must agree with Prowl. There was a change in him when I brought up Starscream. Though I can't be certain why, it is clear that the rumors are very important to him, at the very least."

They were all silent in thought for several moments. Eventually, Optimus let out a tired huff of air, stretched his joints, and straightened. "This is why we must wait for news from our friends. Once we have an idea of what it is we are truly dealing with, we can act accordingly. As much as I would like to act immediately, blind haste could make the situation much worse for everyone involved."

Absently, Miles nodded. "Yeah, not making it worse would be nice."

Although, to be honest, Miles wasn't sure how much worse it could feasibly get. For a moment, anyway. Then he recalled what Prowl had said about the war, the lingering tensions, the sheer firepower he knew these guys had at their beck and call, what Mr. Seasick had said about euthanizing people way back when… and it wasn't so hard anymore to picture what 'worse' could entail.

He covered his mounting unease by snorting at the one humorous thing he picked out of all that.

It _would_ be Earth that wound up with the super dangerous fugitives or some ultra-rare mineral or turned out to be the best tactical location to start up a rebel base or whatever other ulterior motive there could possibly have been.

Typical.

* * *

Some last minute changes to their trajectory prompted by the appearance of what was either satellite debris or potentially active components resulted in a slightly off-course landing. Originally intending to follow Bumblebee's course exactly, the scout's ship was nowhere to be seen when Ratchet, Ironhide, and Annabelle touched down. Neither, for that matter, were they in a clearing of any sort.

The sounds of the landing had registered as a crash at first: something was breaking, there was havoc being wreaked outside, and once they came to stop, Annabelle announced with sincerity, "That didn't sound good!"

"_**Great. The first thing we do when we get here is destroy some of the wildlife,**_" grumbled Ironhide, shuttering his optics for a long moment and then shaking his head.

"No, it didn't," Ratchet agreed with Annabelle, "but everything should be fine. I think we broke some of your trees." To Ironhide, "_**Not ideal, but it was unavoidable. We have a walk ahead of us before we rendezvous with anyone anyway. I don't think anyone needs to know about this.**_"

Briefly, Annabelle looked to be in mourning for the fallen flora. Then she realized what that implied. Her face brightened and the corners of her mouth tilted up. "That means we're here! We're here, we're here, we're here!" She started to bop back and forth in Ironhide's hands (he had insisted on holding her for 'atmospheric entry,' whatever that was) and repeated her announcement over and over again in a sing-song voice.

Both medic and weapons specialist watched her with bemused intrigue until she finished her impromptu performance with a giggling flourish.

"We're here," she said again, this time with finality. "I wanna go out!"

There was no point in wasting time. / _**Open the door,**_ / Ironhide told Ratchet, needlessly. The medic was already running through the checks and preparing to open the ship. "Just a second, 'Spark."

Literally a second later, the pressure lock hissed and the mechanical locks clicked. Annabelle whipped her head around like a turbo fox. To be fair, the mechs weren't much subtler.

Sunlight was the first thing they noticed. It wasn't that the ship was dark, but rather that Earth was much nearer to its sun than Cybertron and the colonies were to their nearest stars. The tinted atmosphere also helped enhance the effect, effectively blocking out the darkness of space. At almost the same time, there was the flooding of air. This registered more with Ironhide and Ratchet – particularly the latter, with his powerful sensors – because all of the atmospheric nuances were obvious to them; Annabelle's reaction was more primal, involving a deep inhale and a corresponding pleased sigh.

Finally, they all caught sight of the mesh of browns and greens that filled the world beyond.

"Come on, let's go!" Annabelle urged, bouncing insistently now, as though she could make them move that way.

Ironhide chuckled and obliged, standing and fluidly stepping around and out of the doorway.

Earth was softer than any Cybertronian cities' ground, and the plant life was rather crowded in this location – and tall! Ironhide hadn't expected organic organisms of this height, sentient or not. Perhaps unsurprisingly, what was unnerving to him was pleasing to Annabelle.

"_**Look at all the organic life,**_" Ironhide said quietly, avoiding any potential confused comment from Annabelle by keeping to Cybertronian.

"_**It is an organic planet after all,**_" Ratchet agreed, glancing around with intent optics. He stepped out after them and closed the ship back up. "_**I just messaged Jazz. He transmitted the alt mode specs and reissued the coordinates. I'll send you yours…**_"

A moment later, frame modifications were running through Ironhide's processors, and the familiar urge to alter his frame to fit in took hold of him. "Can I put you down for a second?" he asked Annabelle.

The girl nodded happily, said "Uh huh," and then stepped carefully out of his hands when he crouched. Apparently she was unused to the feeling of the forest floor beneath her feet, because even as Ironhide watched her, her little toes stretched and felt daintily around the various pine needles and twigs on the ground.

Now unburdened, Ironhide turned his attention inward, running through the list of modifications. From the way Ratchet's optics had dimmed, he could tell the medic was doing the same. It would have been more ideal to implement the updates with a transformation, but the density of the trees didn't make an unpracticed transformation sound appealing. Instead, both medic and weapons specialist changed their frames plate by plate, joint by joint, occasionally having what must have looked like miniature seizures and contortions to accommodate component rearrangements.

Less than half an Earth minute later – a stretch of time that could have been boiled down to mere seconds had transformation been possible – both mechs stood completely reformatted for Earthen alt modes.

Annabelle was gaping openly at them.

"What was that?" she demanded. Her eyes narrowed and then she pointed at Ratchet. "You have words on you now!"

Ratchet blinked down at himself. "So I do," he confirmed, noting with amusement that some of the alien words on his paintjob that had barely registered during reconfiguration spelled out the phrase 'search and rescue.' Jazz said he'd thought the alt was apropos. Apropos _indeed_.

"Now we'll be able to blend in better," Ironhide explained as he bent back down. Annabelle quickly climbed back into his hands, arguing that neither of them looked camouflaged (she mutilated the word, and it came out sounding more like 'cafamolged'). Ironhide countered by explaining that they hadn't adopted their disguises fully yet, and it was hard for inorganic organisms to really blend with organic environments.

Now that the necessities were out of the way, they began to follow Jazz's coordinates and set a path through the trees.

Along the way, Annabelle babbled on about how she didn't used to live in a forest, but then she had, although this didn't look like that forest, and how she liked a lot of animals and hoped they ran across a deer, and how her dad was good with guns but he didn't like hunting very much, and other randomness. Every so often the mechs would interject with a question for clarification, but really, they were content to let her talk herself into tiredness. Which, after forty or so minutes, she did.

They walked quietly for another ten or fifteen minutes.

It gradually came to Ratchet's attention that Ironhide wasn't adapting to the environment very well. Instead of calmly taking in his surroundings to satisfy his curiosity, when the mech looked around he did so roughly, like sensor blips were startling and sudden, without any hint of improvement. Ratchet turned a questioning expression towards him.

"_**My sensors are driving me crazy. There's too much alien, organic life ringing on them.**_" Ironhide shouldered aside a branch that was proving a hindrance. "_**Yours must be going crazy.**_"

The medic shrugged, pausing momentarily to let a chipmunk scurry by. "_**I have been trying to find the balance between muting my sensory input and letting it naturally adjust ever since the ship door opened,**_" he indirectly confirmed. "_**But it's not like we should have expected anything less. Try and dim them for now, until the base readings adjust at least.**_"

Ironhide acquiesced with a thoughtless nod.

He startled when Annabelle suddenly shot up, as if about to pounce out of his hands, but calmed when he saw she was only lunging at a nearby branch and tearing a leaf off. Once she had the green thing in hand, she settled back down in his palms. Apparently she decided one wasn't enough, though, because she did this several more times, steadily collecting a small pile of leaves. When she was finally satisfied, she lay down and proceeded to place the leaves on her nose, blowing up at them and laughing when they went sailing.

"Why are you doing that, Annabelle?" Ratchet voiced the question both mechs had.

She paused in the middle of placing a leaf on her nose and looked over at him. "Because it's fun," she said simply, like it should be obvious.

"Mm." Despite not understanding in the slightest, Ratchet acknowledged the explanation and moved on.

Twenty minutes later, Ironhide _still_ didn't seem to have gotten control of his sensors or his nerves. The way he carried himself oozed a level of rigidity and uncertainty that normally wasn't there.

"_**I know that being here is a novel experience and all, but you need to calm down. I have the feeling that you aren't really even trying,**_" Ratchet offhandedly commented, not even bothering to look at Ironhide as he spoke.

"_**Slag it, I'm trying! It's just so… so…**_"

"_**Organic?**_" offered Ratchet, glancing sideways. "_**I don't know how many more times you can possibly say that.**_"

Ironhide gave his friend a simmering look. He carefully shifted has hands again to protect Annabelle from yet another branch trying to get in his way. "_**How are you still so calm about being here? When's the last time you were on a planet like this?**_"

"_**It's been a while. But, I don't think standing around slack-jointed or running around crazy because we're impressed by the local wildlife is going to endear us to the natives,**_" Ratchet said smoothly. "_**And I can't imagine they'll take kindly to you staring at them and uttering something stupid like, 'Your planet is really organic,' the first time you see them.**_"

"_**As if I would,**_" Ironhide groused. "_**Besides, I haven't said it that often. And just so you know…!**_"

"Whatcha talking about?" Annabelle peeped up loudly, twisting around in Ironhide's hand so that she could look at him.

The ex-Autobots blinked at one another.

"We're admiring the forest," Ironhide said after a long moment. Even as he spoke, he had to hesitate in his step because a sleek black creature – a snake – slithered into his path and he had to move to avoid crushing it. The place was, certainly, full of alien life and alien sounds. These singing 'birds' that Annabelle seemed to like were, while apparently harmless, making him uneasy for reasons entirely beyond him.

Annabelle looked around, and then blinked uncomprehendingly between the two mechs. "They're only trees."

"We haven't seen Earth trees before," argued Ratchet. "We do not have trees where we come from."

"Oh, yeah, that's true," Annabelle agreed after a moment. Then she became quiet again, settling back down into Ironhide's hands and blinking up at the forest as they passed.

They walked for another thirty or so minutes before Ironhide let out a tired system's worth of air.

"_**This is starting to bug me. Our landing couldn't have been thrown off that greatly. We should have come across someone by now!**_" he exclaimed.

"_**You know, I have to concur. I would have thought…?**_"

Even as Ratchet started to explain himself, there was a hurried and pointed series of movements arising in the surrounding brush.

Speak of the Unmaker…

"Suddenly," Ratchet said somewhat dryly, switching to English so as not to offend and also stopping where he was, "I don't think that that's a problem. Something tells me we've been found."

Ironhide only nodded once. He, too, stopped and set to studying the foliage as figures began to come forward: one, then two, then three, and then a fourth. Four humans came from the trees.

To Ironhide's faint interest, they were all armed with appropriately small weapons. He couldn't stop himself from running a rudimentary scan on one of the human's main firearm, but ceased when he noticed the attention was unnerving the weapon bearer.

The comment made Annabelle scramble around and prop herself up with Ironhide's fingers. "Found?" she repeated.

Ratchet, who had been steadily scanning the group that intercepted them, suddenly found himself scanning his companions instead: Ironhide and Annabelle were both studying the four men, the former clearly trying to see if there was any resemblance between these humans and his charge, and the latter simply looking for the familiar face of her father.

"Where's my daddy?" said Annabelle at last, frowning to accentuate her question.

Ah. None of these was her father, the mechs realized.

Silence officially broken, one of the men – the largest of the group, built solidly and strongly and without cranial hair – spoke up. "He's nearby. We were expecting you from a different direction. That's where he's at."

"Sorry to not fit into your plans," Ratchet apologized without easily identifiable intonation. Not wanting to put the humans off, the moment he realized the effect that made he added, "If Jazz had been more specific, we would've altered course."

After a few more seconds of silent appraisal, the same man said, "I don't think there's really any point in asking if you're Ironhide and Ratchet."

The indirect address had Ironhide hesitating, suddenly reminded (although he had never forgotten) that he was here because he was expected to turn over the child hanging over his fingers.

"That would be us," Ratchet confirmed in his stead, simultaneously sending a radio ping to try and get Ironhide to snap out of it. "I'm Ratchet. The idiot who can't seem to get over the fact that he's on Earth is Ironhide." Because his ping only partially got Ironhide out of his stupor, Ratchet leaned over and pushed the mech's shoulder, radioing, / _**Seriously, snap out of it. You're embarrassing me in front of the aliens, and we haven't even encountered Annabelle's father yet. **_/

The bald spokesperson nodded and said, "Nice to meet you. I'm Togg. These are Donnelly, Michaels, and Borkowski." The human nodded to each man in turn, and each gave a partial nod at his own name.

Ratchet returned the nods in kind, and Ironhide did the same after a moment.

Togg quickly threw out a couple orders – "Go tell the patrols from here northeast that we're good," he pointed at Borkowski and then off into the woods, then pointed at Donnelly and said, "Cover here until I get back" – then addressed the silent mechs. "Michaels and I'll bring you to Lennox. It'll be at least fifteen more minutes, though."

Without another word, Ratchet and Ironhide were being summoned to follow the humans as they walked off into the woods.

"Lie back down, youngling," Ironhide instructed gently.

Annabelle turned around, eyebrows furrowing. "Why? I'm not tired!"

"Because he said it will be a while longer before we reach your father, and it is safer for you to stay seated when we move," he explained patiently, yet sternly. And, while Annabelle pouted for a minute, she ultimately huddled back down and Ironhide was able to start following the strange human (made all the stranger because neither mech was accustomed to interacting with any of their species beyond Annabelle, Sam, and Mikaela, for the most part).

/ _**I take it **_Lennox _**must be her father, **_/ Ratchet theorized. Apart from the context of the situation, the name 'Togg' had mentioned meant nothing to either mech. He waited a moment before posing that as a question to their guide.

"Yeah. Will Lennox, that's her dad. Guy's been an undercover mess since Annie was taken… don't even get me started on his wife…" breathed Togg, before deciding it wasn't his place to hand out details like that.

The walk was decidedly uneasy. Togg only spared them a few comments and glances, but seemed content to try to ignore them and focus on directions instead. Contrastingly, Michaels – who, unbeknownst to the mechs, had never been in close quarters with a non-disguised Cybertronian – barely looked away. He kept giving them wary and apprehensive looks, shaking his head to himself, and taking calming breaths. Ratchet would've said something about the stress response, but figured that might make things worse.

Inevitability, on the other hand, was what was taking over Ironhide.

This was it. The first group they'd encountered had been a fluke. This time, there was no avoiding it. They were being led directly to Annabelle's father (whom he now had a name for, but found it difficult to wrap his processors around). Needless to say, he wasn't much for conversation at the moment.

Oblivious to everything else, Annabelle was passing the time by tapping out different rhythms on both her legs and Ironhide's hands. Even she, though, subconsciously must have picked up on the tension, because she was very subdued.

/ _**I certainly hope we end up someplace with fewer trees and more open spaces, **_/ Ratchet commed as he raised his arm to ward off a flurry of branches. / _**For once, I envy smaller mechs…**_ /

His attempts at lightening the mood while simultaneously complaining fell flat.

Some fifteen minutes – and only one or two spoken comments – later, Togg gestured up ahead. "There. You can probably see 'em through the trees."

They were still some distance away, but both parties could indeed start to make out the other: there were eight humans ahead, all of them growing still once they saw the approaching group. Only a couple relaxed at all when Togg cried something out in greeting.

/ _**Bee and Jazz aren't there. I wonder why? **_/ Ratchet observed, giving silent voice to the first thing Ironhide had noticed. The absence of their friends was glaring.

Next, Sam and Mikaela registered on both mechs' sensors. Finally, a splash of familiarity on their otherwise overtaxed environmental and bioscanners! It was the familiarity that made them register so quickly when it would have been wiser to focus on the group of strangers that accompanied them instead.

As he and Ratchet approached the newest collection of humans and they were able to make out more and more details, Ironhide felt his systems stiffen. He meant to start scanning again to try and locate the human physically distinct as Annabelle's father, but found that there was absolutely no need.

The man stood out like a bright red mech commanding a drone army.

The human was built firmly, in admirable shape as far as humans went. His hair was short, but very similar to Annabelle's in color – only a few shades darker. The eyes were different – a brownish, greenish color as opposed to Annabelle's misted blue – but still somehow the same. There were several shared facial characteristics between the two, and that was in spite of the fact that Annabelle was still young and her features still developing.

Yet it wasn't anything physical that first gave him away. All of those observations were made _after_ determining that the man was Annabelle's father. It was the demeanor that singled him out.

Body tense, apprehensive. Expression serious. Eyes taking in every detail, both measuring and searching. Inhaling slowly, preparing to act. A being unmistakably with a purpose and expectations.

Then Annabelle, as though sensing she was being searched for (or perhaps only realizing Ironhide had practically stopped walking and so it was okay for her not to sit), crawled up Ironhide's palm and peered out over his fingers. It took her another second to spot the man, but he saw her immediately; Ironhide caught his sharp breath and the snap of attention onto the child.

When the girl began to stand – and certainly when she released an excited shriek – the mech found his undivided attention back on her. He considered requesting that she sit back down or hold on more tightly, because she was now beginning to bounce excitedly in place, which was decidedly unsafe, but he refrained. In part this was because he didn't want the first thing the human saw him doing to be giving his daughter orders, and also partly because he knew it would not be long before he had to put her down anyway.

"Daddy! It's Daddy, Ironhide – my daddy!" she cried out, turning around and smiling up at him ecstatically.

He looked back at the human. Somewhere behind him, he sensed Ratchet going through the same exchange of attention. He knew the other humans were watching them, and he knew Sam and Mikaela were probably giving the lot of them strange looks, and that it should have been more concerning than it was that neither Bumblebee nor Jazz was there to greet them.

But right now, Annabelle and her strange father were the only things he cared to focus on.

* * *

Eight people were hard to keep completely calm for a several hour waiting game. Surprisingly, it wasn't the teens that were causing the most problems in that department. When Epps asked how civilian teenagers could be content with simply laying around for hours on end – not sleeping or playing games or anything – they answered with,

"What do you think we were doing for nearly ten months?"

That was the end of that.

It was Graham's men that were starting to get on Lennox's nerves. Graham had offered his team to boost the numbers for fanning out in groups, even though Bee and Jazz were pretty certain the rendezvous would happen around these coordinates. Graham and three of his men had joined this group: Carrera, Johnston, and Morrison. Having only been briefly introduced to the two mechs already at the safe point while both were still in 'car mode', the prospect of meeting two more had them filled with nervous excitement and suspicion.

They were good, reliable men, but they were understandably tentative. Hell, Lennox would've admitted to anyone who asked that he was uncertain, too. That didn't change the fact that it made control more troublesome than normal.

"Jazz estimated they'd be here by now," Lennox observed as his watch continued to tick. Noon had come and gone, and it was getting on towards one o'clock.

"No one's perfect," Epps said wryly and with a roll of his eyes. "Johnston said he thought he saw something on the way out here. That was probably them coming in. I'm sure they're on their way right now, Annie safe with them. They'll be here."

Lennox nodded, but continued to stare out into the trees, waiting for the first sign that there was a mech navigating the forest. For what felt the hundredth time in the last fifteen or so hours, he wondered what had happened during the recently dubbed Highway Sojourn. Epps had insisted it was entirely uneventful – just two walks filled with pointless conversation sandwiching a search of abandoned cars up and down the 108. Yet, somehow, Jazz had come back in a state of triumph, proclaiming that he'd gotten a promise out of Epps that the man would go riding with him some time.

Apparently Epps had sworn the mech to secrecy about the circumstances that brought about that promise, and Epps wasn't telling anyone any time soon. From the way Epps had exclaimed, "Oh, come on, man, I told you not to say _anything_ about that!" when Jazz made his announcement, Lennox also gathered that the promise itself was supposed to have been a secret.

Add that to the way Epps had joked loosely with the silver mech for the rest of that night, and Lennox knew he had something he should probably be keeping his eye on.

While they continued to pace about, Lennox got to wondering how Pierce and Howard (the man had not so much volunteered as he had insisted that he be in on this) were handling things back at the warehouse. Lennox and Epps had both agreed that they didn't want either mech there to potentially make the situation even more stressful. Sam and Mikaela had, of course, protested, but they were easily overruled in the end. In retrospect, Will thought that maybe they should have brought at least one of them along, even if only in disguise. That way they would have radio contact with these unknowns that he knew were currently somewhere in their territory.

The latter was a thought that went against every instinct he had, which clashed wonderfully with his parental instincts, the likes of which almost made him want to go running through the woods to find where they were – screw the idea of sitting back and letting them come to him when his daughter was at stake!

God, what a thought! Pacing again – and once more earning the concerned looks of both Epps and Graham – Lennox tried to hold onto the idea while wrestling it into submission. Annabelle. She was somewhere in these woods. Accompanied by two mechs, yes, but still on Earth. Within a one mile radius? Five miles? He didn't know. It was still the closest he'd been to his daughter in over a year.

Soon, he told himself. He didn't need to run off and start freaking out, scouring the forest for her. They'd show up sooner or later…

Luckily for everyone, it was sooner rather than later.

Carrera was the one to point hesitantly to the side about five minutes after Lennox had that thought. "Uh, sirs…?"

Everyone snapped to alertness. Lennox stepped quickly up to the man and followed his pointing. In the distance, heavily obscured by trees, there was something moving. More than one something, it looked like, but it was the large yellowish something that stood out from the branches and foliage.

"Ratchet," Sam muttered. "Gotta be. It's practically the same color."

A few more seconds elapsed and the distance shrunk, and it became evident that there was a second large form – this one black, much more in line with the shaded forest – as well as a couple people rustling through leaves. They could hear heavy branches being pushed aside and walked through.

"It's us. They came a bit more easterly than we expected," Togg's voice shouted out, both confirming that this wasn't some surprise attack and explaining why they were approaching from the direction they were.

That was all well and good, but Lennox was already lost. All it took was the clear view of black armor to jar his memory, drawing up the projection of a well-armed mech displayed side by side with the image of Annabelle, and the rest of the world drowned away.

The black mech was no longer exactly like the picture Lennox had been shown, but it was obvious that it was the same being. Lennox found himself looking over the approaching behemoth from head to foot, the obscuring greenery be damned. As he did so, he found that he could finally make out the glowing blue dots that made the mech's eyes, and noticed that they were fastened on him in an equivalent examination.

Unlike the projection's unforgivingly alien components, there was at least a sense of familiarity from the mech's current body. Clearly, the vehicular disguise had already been incorporated. Yet, even with the underlying sense of 'earthiness,' there were too many things Lennox couldn't get past: the gruffness hadn't changed, and neither had the sheer size of the mech, and, for that matter, that same set of cannons that were way larger than he was remained exactly in place. It was definitely unnerving, and maybe even a little frightening, but none of it compared to the strength of his desire to make sure that the teenagers were right. If that mech had Annabelle, then Lennox didn't care how much firepower it was packing.

But where was Annabelle? Sam and Mikaela had been leading Bumblebee when they crossed paths. Annabelle wasn't anywhere to be seen. Lennox was sure he couldn't have missed anything; he'd studied the mech up and down and had accounted for everyone in the approaching party except for Annabelle.

It dawned on Will that the black mech's hands weren't simply placed in front of him, they were cupped. Was it possible…?

And then, the answer to his unspoken question, a small face poked up from below the curve of the mech's fingers.

She was unmistakable, and Will felt his heart skip multiple beats at the sight of his daughter.

Annabelle looked healthy enough, her eyes wide and searching and her face unstressed, her tiny fingers dwarfed by the digits she was grasping to hold herself up. When she caught sight of him – for one glorious moment, their eyes met and he could assure himself that she was still in there, that she was still the same, that she hadn't completely changed since he last saw her – she gave a happy squeal and started to bounce.

The sound and the motion had the great black mech glancing down at her in concern. From the ground, Lennox worried briefly that she might fall.

"Daddy! It's Daddy, Ironhide – my daddy!" she exclaimed, glancing up at the robot excitedly – _no, don't look away!_ – and pointing back at him, as though the mech couldn't figure out who he was.

The mech's attention was back on him. Lennox felt it rather than saw it, because he was staring at Annabelle.

"It's recognizable," the mech answered. His voice was as gravelly as Lennox might've guessed, but the thing that caught his ears was the light giggling that Annabelle fell into for some reason at the comment.

Will was moving forward before he knew it, barely aware that he was no longer standing next to Carrera and completely oblivious to the strange look Epps was giving him. He couldn't tell if the other group had stopped moving yet or not, because everything had melted away, and he just wanted to have Annie back again…

On the peripheral of his senses, he saw the massive mech crouch down. He only really noticed what had happened when he saw Annabelle's bare feet touch the ground.

Next thing he knew he was pelting forward.

They met somewhere in the middle, her happy frolicking meeting his desperate running, and he dropped down and scooped her into his arms in one fluid motion. He wrapped an arm around her, hugged her to him, ran a hand through her hair, pressed his face in her shoulder, gave her several frantic kisses to the cheek and top of her head.

"Daddy," she breathed happily, in turn wrapping her arms _and _legs around him – like a baby monkey clinging to its mother – and squeezed him back.

"Oh God," he breathed shakily, straining to hold back relieved tears and failing. She was real, she was back… "Annabelle, never… God, I'm never leaving you again. You're safe, you're home, you're safe," Will muttered. Whether to himself or to her, it didn't matter.

No one and nothing else mattered.

"I missed you and Mommy," said Annie. Will pulled his head back so that he could look at her as she spoke – look at her bright, impossibly healthy eyes and the adorable way her face would move when she was thinking hard, and simply refreshing himself on the way she always looked when she was talking to him. She'd grown, and he'd missed a whole year of her childhood, but she was still very much the same, if not even more beautiful and precious than he remembered. "But Ironhide took good care of me."

That drew Lennox's attention, cracking the bubble of the world he'd retreated to. He contented himself with staring at Annabelle's face for a few seconds more. Then, hesitantly, he looked up at the mech who had brought her, unconsciously hugging her just that much tighter.

The mech… Ironhide… was watching them with unwavering optics, having stood up once more. So was the other one – and so was everyone else – but they weren't his concern at the moment.

Forcefully strangling his nerves, Lennox cleared his throat and addressed the mech tensely, "Thank you. For… for taking care of her, and… and for bringing her home."

Ironhide seemed as unsure about what to do with the more or less mandatory thanks as Lennox had felt about giving it. Several heavy seconds passed by before Ironhide found his voice and offered lowly, "It was my pleasure."

Will wasn't sure how he wanted to take that statement, because it was probably meant harmlessly and politely enough, but it was still a mech who had owned (his blood boiled at the word) Annabelle saying it had been a pleasure to do so… but then, what sort of response was he expecting? Maybe he shouldn't even have said anything to the mech at all.

All that was pushed to the side for the moment by lowering his gaze back onto his daughter and giving her a squeeze.

"What am I, spare parts?"

Lennox looked back up sharply, singling out the other mech at the same time that everyone else did. Annabelle, however, giggled and amended, "Ratchet took good care of me, too." Her father blinked at her.

This time when Lennox looked back up at the yellowish mech, the mech addressed him. "It's nice to finally meet you," Ratchet said plainly. Ironhide gave a barely audible grunt of agreement. "And it's nice to see you again, Sam and Mikaela," he turned his attention to the grinning teenagers. At least, Sam was grinning. When Will stole a glance at them, Mikaela was smiling warmly at him and Annabelle.

Squeezing Annabelle yet again, as though to prove to himself that she hadn't suddenly disappeared, Lennox started to try and claw his way back to his comfort zone. That meant going through the process of command and ignoring the unimportant conversations starting to develop.

Catching Togg's eye, Lennox began to ask, "Did you…?"

He was effectively cut off. "Already sent Borkowski to let everyone northeast of here know they've arrived."

"And the post you were…?"

"Donnelly's covering until I go get him," Togg reassured. He smiled faintly.

Lennox spun around and nodded at Morrison.

"Did you hear what he just said about Borkowski circling north?"

"Yes, sir," Morrison confirmed, shooting a wary look at the two mechs who were now casually observing the proceedings while greeting the teenagers and responding to a question Graham had posed.

"Do the same for the other side."

"Yes, sir," he repeated. He didn't need to be told twice. A moment later, he was vanishing into the trees.

In the middle of reminding himself what the next step they'd decided on was, Annabelle spoke up, "Where's Mommy?"

Sarah.

Will looked down at Annabelle, her face all innocence and hopefulness at the idea of being reunited with her mother.

Sarah was going to flip.

"Will," Graham called his attention; Lennox gave it. Everyone grew hushed. "Epps and I have this under control. Go home. If anyone asks, we're processing the guy who showed up with her; your family deserves the rest of the day to yourselves."

The captain's first instinct was to balk at being told to go, but, really, he'd been planning on it. It had been an unspoken presumption. Plus, he'd had the feeling he wouldn't want to deal with people, let alone mechs, once he had Annabelle in his arms.

He'd been right.

He nodded slowly. Before he left, Lennox surveyed the scene one last time: two mechs, significantly larger than the two he already had on his plate, with a scattering of his and Graham's men amongst them. The teens – the life-altering, nerve-wracking teens – looking alternately between him and said mechs with none of the apprehension or uneasiness exhibited by everyone else.

Epps gave him a long-distance encouraging nudge in the direction of home.

"Tomorrow," said Lennox, blinking at each person, human and mech, in turn. He finished on Epps. "I'll be back at the warehouse tomorrow for the midday shift."

"Sure thing," chorused Epps and Graham.

"See you then," said Sam.

"Have fun," Mikaela told him.

With a final nod, Will turned and set a steady course back towards the civilian sector; Annabelle waved and called goodbye to everyone (his insides clenched at the way she said 'bye-bye' to Ironhide).

"Your mom is going to be so happy to see you," he whispered to her. She nodded and cuddled her face into him.

Lennox did his best to ignore the heavy pair of optics that he could feel on his back as he walked away.

He would deal with that later.

* * *

More than once, he'd found himself wondering if they'd made the right decision, keeping things secret. Not long after this mess had started, there had been plenty of doubts passed around the office. Some thought they should've taken the chance at bartering right from the get-go; some thought that, just maybe, some of the blame rested with themselves because, just maybe, the invasion would've gone away if the invaders had gotten what they'd come for.

Those dissenters had been reproached. From his perspective, it was clear that there was more than one motive driving those mechanical bastards. Otherwise, why would they be taking people? Why would they be snatching John and Jane Doe off the streets and keeping them?

John and Jane Doe definitely wouldn't have any sort of tactical information for the aliens. No – there had to be another motive there. He may not have known what it was, but he knew it had to be there.

That raised an all-important question.

Were the aliens even after what they had all _assumed_ the aliens would be after?

Surely a technology-based race would've been smart enough to check through all the information networks for anything useful before tearing them down like they had. Granted, it was possible that the mechs actually had gone through everything before dismantling the networks, but it didn't seem likely, because they had been on top of monitoring network activity right up until their own systems were brought down (much to everyone's horror and irritation).

Oh, but they'd been building up their systems again, with weapons and defenses as top priority. They were an innovative group that liked to play things by the belt, and there was no way they were going to roll over and give up just because communications and widespread information networks seemed beyond reach. It may have been selfish, but their own base was of higher priority than anything else, and they were guarding it with their lives.

But where was he again?

Ah, yes. The question of whether or not all their predictions about why the aliens might come and what they might want when they got here might have been wrong.

There were those who wanted to cling to hope, pointing to the fact that John and Jane Doe couldn't possibly be targets if the aliens were after the base's special cargo. There would have been ransom mentioned or demands made, these people claimed.

Then there was the majority, which strayed on the side of caution. Recently, some of their low-key system sweeps indicated that – maybe – there had been activity surrounding the downed Witwicky records. It was hard to be really, really certain, but even a hint of a possibility that the mechs were seeking information pertaining to the name 'Witwicky' spelled trouble. More and more people were coming on board with the idea that the aliens were probably still after getting their property back and had merely screwed themselves over by attacking the networks before they realized that the networks could be useful.

As for him? He knew they would come eventually. He could feel it in his bones. With every fiber of his being, he knew they'd be coming. It wasn't a question of 'if', it was a question of 'when.'

Maybe they'd be here tomorrow. Maybe they'd be here next week. Maybe they'd be here a few months from now. Hell, maybe it would even be another few years, because they obviously hadn't managed to track them down _yet_.

He stared over the top of the internet-defunct computer monitor and out of the observatory glass into the dimly lit recesses of the well-guarded holding room.

Even if they did come tomorrow (or next week, or next year), these humans were going to give 'em hell before they handed anything over.

Because, above everything else, it was clear that the aliens were here for no good. That was something even John and Jane Doe could see. Giving into their tormentors wouldn't change anything. At best, the status quo would stay where it was. At worst…

He didn't even want to think about it, but his imagination wasn't pretty.

So, they would put up one hell of a fight before they were overtaken by any questing aliens.

Oh, yes. They would keep the aliens from getting their way or else they would die trying, or his name wasn't Seymour Reginald Simmons.

And last he checked? It was.

* * *

**A.N.**

So, who is excited about the news that there's going to be a Transformers 4? I know I am. Maybe a little concerned about what they could possibly do with it (given what they've done so far, I mean – because I know there is PLENTY that could be done with the material), but I'm excited nevertheless.

The vast majority of this chapter was written over my spring break, which is (sadly) coming to a close. I'm back in school(s) on Monday. Seriously – I'll be back in 3 different schools. My own college, the elementary school I volunteer at (mandatory) for a few hours Mondays and Wednesdays, and the middle school I do my field experience at on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. I have packed days this semester. It's so annoying. I shall lament the free time break gave me… it was fun while it lasted.

R&R, please & thank-you. Reviews and messages fill me with glee.


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